#Guess who chose death by coloring these pages

[scatterbrainedbot]

Rat Sons AU: Character Introductions

Hamato Sho aka The Ancient One

more rambling & sketches:

(Had a bit of fun merging 03's Ancient One with bits of Rise's Splinter and Grandpa Sho, then started working on his origin story and was like fuck it! Guardians from 03! But for the Council of Heads from rise! but who are actually kinda more like the Ninja Tribunal from 03!! if they oversaw the world like the Guardians/Utroms! but were also kinda corrupt and uncaring of the lives of mortals and

the good news is now theres world building lore happening i guess, not just character lore??? is that good news??)

anywho, this is Grandpappy Sho!!

He's a little bit of a gremlin. Kinda rude, kinda sarcastic, kinda feral, and kinda very much had it with catering to the rules of 'polite society.' Basically, dudes survived some shit and has now decided that he will make that everyone elses problem too (/affectionate)

He lowkey resents his lineage and how he was raised, in the sense that he often wonders what life he could have lived if his youth was not fully devoted to "becoming someone worthy of the Hamato name." But he's actively trying to let go of all that and focus on being whoever he wishes in the present. Hence, gremlin.

A gremlin that is also, however, a freakin fantastic father figure (he swore to himself that his girl will literally never have to think about 'earning' any name, Hamato or otherwise; if she wants it, it is already hers, and wether she choses to keep it is entirely her own choice)

lol a lot of that was in present tense wasnt it? but yall know that aint quite true.....

tho, it might not quite be wrong exactly either...

[rat sons au masterpost]

(easier to read/separated contents below the cut! (super long))

—————————

HAMATO SHO aka THE ANCIENT ONE

Page 1:

Pronouns: He/Him

Age:???

Color Motif: ~desaturated sea foam green~

Last heir of the Hamato Clan lineage (by blood, at least)

As a young man, he spent decades training tirelessly to become a master of ninjutsu, molding himself into a perfect soldier, fully dedicated to maintaining his family's status as one of the most powerful names in Japan

Was selected to become a Guardian — an elite warrior chosen by the immortal Council of Heads to serve as an agent of their will. He served them for several years, increasingly resentful of their corruption and disregard for mortal lives

Abandoned his post after the death of a fellow Guardian (Tang Shen's biological father)

Disillusioned with both the Council of Heads and the world at large, Sho shifted his priorities from serving a 'Greater Good,' to serving his own needs and desires (and those of the people he cares about). He became very openly sarcastic, cynical and crass (he also found the way this horrified the neighbors to be freaking hilarious)

Did not think he would be well suited for caring for a child and really only expected to serve as a temporary shelter for Tang Shen until a proper family could be found for her, like maybe a few months or so at most?

Jokes on u, old man. Guiding a young Tang Shen through the routines of their daily life, watching her interact with the animals of the farm, teaching her how to do tasks so mundane he'd long since stopped thinking about them, Sho found he enjoyed the role of a parent more than anything else he'd ever done

Given his own experiences with abusive powers, Sho raised Tang Shen to be a very independent thinker, encouraging her to pursue her own sense of right and wrong, and to always be wary of those in power.

Though he trained her in both ninjutsu and the mystic arts (the good kind), Sho's greatest hope was to raise Tang Shen to make her own choices, and enjoy a life free of ancestral burdens or any ghosts from his past

Page 2:

As a Guardian, Sho underwent what he would later call an 'involuntary spiritual awakening.'

This granted Sho use of the Council’s powerful mystic techniques through the manipulation of his own spirit and will. These teachings were a highly coveted secret, granted only to those in the final stage of becoming a Guardian, and they were often deadly to learn

The Council taught that a human could only access the mystic arts if granted the ability through Their own will, that the technique was one of faith, a sort of forfeiting one's own spirit in exchange for power

Sho, along with Tang Shen's bio dad (oomph he needs a name), discovered a way to refine the techniques of the Council, to create their own source of mystic power without the Council’s influence, pulling from their own faith, emotions, and spiritual connections

Naively, the two told the Council of their findings. They believed that this new method of accessing the mystic arts would be a great benefit to both current and future Guardians, as it was far less damaging to the human body and mind

The Council disagreed.

Weapons that do not depend on you for ammunition are weapons that can turn against you, after all.

#my art #rat sons #rat sons lore #tmnt au #'oh ill queue up the first character sheet to post tomorrow morning!' #posts it immediately #look at this stinky old man #hes so fun #im really excited to share moments of him and lil tang shen via splinters flashbacks later #theyre so sweet #hes a really good papa <3 #ill queue up her info sheet to post either tomorrow or wednesday i think #probably round noon ish

[babybluebanshee]

Stuff I've had to deal with as a city librarian - Halloween Spooktacular

Hello again boils, ghouls, and nonbinary werewolves! Your old buddy Blue has a backlog of whack-ass stories from her travels as a humble library clerk, so here's a big post fulla laughs, drama, and maybe a few bodily fluids tossed in for flair.

Seriously though, tw for bodily fluids, bugs, and PTSD

*A woman came up to the front desk and asked if we had a quiet area where she could make a zoom call and not disturb anyone. No prob, have people asking that all the time. The study rooms were all full, so she was pointed in the direction of the cafe. A few minutes go by, and suddenly everyone at the desk and the page in the shelves beyond it hears loud ass shouting coming from the cafe. Julie heads down to inspect, hoping it's not a fight she has to break up. Nope, as it turns out, the lady on the zoom call is leading an exercise class. She has a mat and everything, and was leading her class in aerobics when Julie got down there. We quickly moved her to a more out-of-the-way conference room.

*A children's board book was return to us with a bite taken out of it. The area was still wet. We do not know if it was child or beast that took the bite. We had to throw it away regardless.

*We had to bake almost all our DVD cases because we found two with bed bug eggs in them.

*A woman printed out some color pictures and asked if I could check to make sure they came out. I picked up the stack and the first one on top was of an angry-looking woman with her tits out. My surprise must have been pretty evident because the woman I was helping immediately turned red and told me they were for a court case.

*Like everywhere else in this god-forsaken country, homeschooling has been on the rise in these parts. As such, we get parents all the time coming in with printed copies of the curriculum they chose and asking if we have the books recommended by them. Whatever we don't have, we can usually get through inter library loan, but the catch with that is you can only have five going at a time. One day, we had a mother come in with a list of three hundred books her curriculum recommended, and she had us check out catalogue for all of them. Branson started helping her, but her shift ended in the middle of it, so I had to do the rest. It took forever, and we ended up only having about fifty of them because I guess this homeschooling curriculum hasn't been updated since the mid-2000s. To her credit, the mother was very exasperated with homeschooling in general and knows that her daughter doesn't want to do it anymore. Her husband is adamant that their kid not go to public school, however. I fought every urge to say that was fine for him to say when he clearly wasn't doing a goddamn thing to help her.

*There's a patron that comes in whom we know nothing about except that he's had multiple heart attacks and has massive anxiety about potentially having another. We know this because he tells us every time the library gets too loud for him, because he believes the noise will somehow "trigger" another heart attack. Normally, we would have no problem with that; heart attacks are scary, he has every right to be anxious about it and request quiet spots to hang out. However, the problem is that he takes it upon himself to police other patrons in the library who he thinks are being too loud near him. Some children were nearby, working on a puzzle and started getting a little rambunctious, and the dude yelled at the top of his voice for them to shut up and get away from him. We had to speak louder for a patron who was hard of hearing, and the death glare he gave us was chilling. He snaps at anyone who forgets to shut the sound off on their phone. The director finally had to tell him he can't harass patrons and to tell us if he has a problem with someone's volume. He's been better behaved since then, but any time we see him, we're instantly worried he's gonna flip out again.

*A little boy in a wheelchair came in with his family, and my god, that kid could zip around fast. His mom mentioned that she forgot to grab a book for his sister, so he rolled into the kid's area to grab it for her. He was back faster than a patron who could just walk in. And you could tell he was very proud of that fact.

*Shae gave me a Sylveon card about a year ago, and I wear it laminated on my lanyard (because I was originally gonna hang it from my rearview mirror but forgot). It's always a big hit with kids. One little girl, however, liked it so much she asked if she could have it. I chuckled and told her sorry, it was a gift from a friend. She merely replied, "no, I want it" and started making a grab for it. Luckily, she was on the other side of the counter and couldn't reach it, but it was still weird. Especially because her mother was right there and made no move to stop or reprimand her.

*My coworker Branson had to clean...something off the bathroom floor one night. She's adamant it wasn't poop, but also said it was so dried out she had to use a putty knife to scrape it off. Our best guess is vomit.

*I was working on a display at the desk and a little black girl came up to watch me work. We chatted for a little, her asking me all the usual little kid questions. Eventually, she asked me if I had kids. I said no, I liked being an auntie better. Plus, I wasn't married, so I couldn't have kids. She thought for a moment, then said "why don't you just buy one?" Branson was nearby and I heard her choke on a laugh. I was pretty close to losing it myself, and said, "I don't think it's very nice to buy a person." Luckily, her dad came up and they left shortly after, so Branson and I could finally laugh about it.

*A patron and his family got taken to court for not returning almost $200 worth of books and DVDS, after ignoring the four warnings we give people before we actually take that step (because at that point you're actively stealing city property). The patron was ordered by a judge to either bring the items to court or pay to replace them, so he brought them to the courthouse. The clerk was going to take them and the whole thing would have been over and done...except he wouldn't give them to her without a library employee present. He never gave a real reason except he was concerned the clerk would "do something" with the items. So without contacting the library or judge the clerk told him he could bring the books directly to the library. When the judge found out what she'd done, he called the library and told us what was happening, and to hopefully expect the guy in there that night. Predictably, we haven't seen him. This was almost a month ago.

*Branson got a phone call from the county jail, which is actually pretty common for libraries. Patrons get arrested and want to make sure their accounts are clear so they don't potentially get into further trouble with outstanding items. Branson goes through all the hold music and questions to finally get the patron on the line...and he'd dialed the wrong number. Branson felt so bad for him.

*A guy came in to use the computers. Donna was getting him set up, sitting at the desk, so she can only see him from about his torso up. He ended up needing help printing something, so I help him, and finally see the sidearm he's got in a holster on his belt. I tell him the library doesn't allow firearms of any kind, no, I do not care that he has a conceal carry, he can't have a weapon in a municipal building. He's kinda testy about it, asking why we don't have a sign. I tell him we do. He had to walk by it to get in the building. In fact, we have one at all three entrances. He smugly asks me to show him, because he didn't see them. Me, petty bitch that I am, make this fucker walk to all three entrances and show him each sign, then tell him as politely as I can to get rid of the gun before he comes back in. He huffily complies.

*I came into work one day and the director immediately called me to the back. He informed me that a couple was having a loud, angry argument on the patio outside the kid's area, and they called the cops for a wellness check because the woman sounded to be in legit distress. Like, rocking back and forth and screaming swears distress. Cop comes and presumably sends them on their way. We don't know for sure because he came, went out to talk to them, and just...left.

*A guy came in to pick up an inter library loan, and when Branson asked for his card, he said he didn't have one. Like, he wasn't a patron. Never mind how the hell he managed to get a fulfilled ILL without one. Branson informs him he has to get a card before he can check out the book, but it's going to cost him $15 since he lives outside city limits. He tries to pay with a check made out to him from someone else. We tell him that won't work. He leaves to get cash, but then immediately turns around and asks if he can just buy the book. I tell him no, since a) it's not our book to sell and b) we're not in the habit of selling books in the collection anyway. I ask if he'd like me to find it on Amazon for him, and he says no. He leaves and doesn't come back. Bonnie sent the ILL back, and we haven't seen him since.

*A lot of our patrons have conspiracy theory brain rot, so you can only imagine the fanciful tales we heard about the emergency test signal. There were theories it would "activate the nanites" in the covid vaccine and either kill everyone who got one or turn them into liberal zombies. My director had someone 100% seriously call it "the Satan signal". It would have been funny if it weren't so stupid.

#woe to the librarian #daily life with blue

[blnk338]

c(u)n(t) 7

"I am doing this because you’ll be fucked up to high heaven" was almost "I am doing this because you'll be fucked to high heaven." Changed due to the worry that people would find it too vulgar. Why? I frankly have no idea, yet, here we are today.

Looking back, I think I most often use the over-the-top affectionate terms for PB constantly because that is his main purpose; a comfort. A lot of Reaper's description of the things in her home used to be riddled with a muddy, jaded feeling, but as she moved to the UK, she has begun to describe her life in more beautiful terms. This also applies to Peanut Butter. He himself is quite literally the color of the sun, his eyes are a bright playful yellow, and he's described to have a "permanent smile." I intentionally chose him to be orange because orange cats are usually the stupidest, sweetest little idiots (though if your cat is of any other color, there is not a muscle in my body that does not a) want to see them and b) know they are terribly sweet).

YOU LOOK LIKE USAGI!” While I'm not sure a ton of people caught it (it's come to my attention that apparently a lot of people haven't seen or heard of the show), Stella likes Sailor Moon.

Claire is important to Reaper because she gets to see someone who looks like her, or rather, dresses like she used to, only this time, this person is happy. I think this derives from my own internal joy when I see emo/goth/alt kids just being happy, because in the time that I was like that, I faced a lot of negativity for just dressing how I wanted to. I put a lot of effort into describing Claire as happy, excitable, and filled with life, but also still a normal anxious teenager because I want people to see alt characters in good lights. While more of those characters are seen in modern pieces of media (ex: Hobie Brown), I still think we need to see more women in those areas.

I changed it, but some may remember that I added double exclamation marks for Stella's remarks-- not a terribly large note, but I used to do it to emphasize how loud she was.

Claire would love Hobie, Stella would love Gwen.

"Feels like shit gets really loud all of a sudden.” Again, something else Reaper and Claire have in common: Sensory overloads.

I changed it all, but in Ghost's pov, I used to respond to Reaper in the third person. I ultimately changed this because it no longer fit with the current iterations of Ghost's POV.

I almost didn't make a comment on the true crime thing because I know people get death threat-y. Even though I don't like the community's fawning over people's deaths and serial killers, I know that there are people who approach the topics politely, with that being said, I don't love it.

“It’s hell.” I believe this is the first time I've ever made Simon actually vulnerable. Instead of shutting Reaper's words down, he fills them in for her; he properly expresses how much agony he's in.

“Was I—was it clear?” Again, another moment of vulnerability from Ghost. He's terrified to do this, he's nervous, he's uncomfortable, it's clear, but it's Reaper and he trusts her.

... Most of the stuff I know about guns is from PUBG...

"One hand rising up, he rubbed the back of his balaclava. Perhaps he could use a trim, too." I was actually going to have a scene where Reaper cuts Ghost's hair but I... forgot LMAO. But I guess that haircut had to happen eventually, huh?

“I don’t think you could handle my stack of documents, Sergeant.” Both an innuendo and a metaphor for Simon himself. It's a bit between the lines, but I attempted to hint at the idea that Simon doubts Reaper would ever be able to, let alone want, to deal with him and his shit.

“I bet it’s just page after page of the same shit I’ve gotta do, what’s the harm in taking a load off, big man?” And it's thrown right back into his face. As in, "no, I can take care of that sort of thing, because it's not a burden to me."

there's a clear sadness when König and Reaper talk to each other, knowing they should've killed each other. It's continued in their conversations as background noise or a prominent topic, the idea that they weren't supposed to be friends. If anything, there's an underlying fear that one day, they might be the reason the other is dead.

Its mentioned briefly, but König likes to draw :)

König actively changes around people. Around Reaper, he lets his walls down. Whether this is because they don't know each other or not, he decides that she is being kind or transparent enough to be trusted with his more awkward side. This also plays into the fact that he's a Colonel (which was information that I didn't have at the time of posting the chapter).

On top of this BB was deemed to be the "squad leader." Even though I'm not changing this, I like to think that König asked BB to hold up that role for the 141 so they would treat him like a regular soldier to see how they would react. In turn, they didn't treat him like shit, and he actively gained a new friend: Reaper.

Originally, there was a push to make König's group more of a boy's club, but that changed after they split up because I felt like it was too girlboss-y of Reaper.

Mind stroll coming to a stop, you turned to look up at Ghost, but his eyes were already on you. “Do you know where we’re going?” Simon was caught staring at Reaper watching the domesticity, yearning to do the same with her. Another in between the lines sort of thing, but hey, it's there.

By this point, Reaper had begun to call Ghost "Big Man" and this is big because Reaper's never shown this kind of affection outwardly to anyone else. She has her own internal nicknames (like Bug Boy), but she doesn't call anyone them to their face. But Reaper loves that Simon is big and this is a big flirting step for her.

"Look up for me." This was WAY more sexual than I realized when I wrote it, but honestly, this is a good way to point out that Simon was super obedient to Reaper. Again, when the hell is he like this with anyone else? WHEN ELSE DOES HE WHIMPER?

Glancing between the two for a second, your lieutenant staring a lot harder than he should have. I think this might've been the most deliberate example of Ghost being jealous of König. I almost included a scene where Ghost asked König to "step back" but I thought it was too Wattpad-esq and hated it LMAO

I typically have Reaper in boxers because they're a) comfy to wear b) good to exercise in and c) pretty GNC. I know some folks aren't comfy with wearing thongs or something (which, believe me, seems fucking awful. Why are writers putting their main female characters in lacy underwear and thongs when they're in the military? That sounds awful!), so I chose a bit more of a comfy example.

Reaper likes doing things in threes. stabbing three times, triple takes, etc.

Reaper knows how to kick down doors bc of her Marine dad.

A lot of Reaper's words are cut short. Ex: "medbay will be quick." This is because she's spent pretty much all of her life in the military.

#rwys notes #rwys cn

[undertale-data]

[Image Description: an Undertale chat box with the name "PAPYRUS", in all caps and Papyrus font, in its center. On its left is a talksprite of Papyrus sweating anxiously, and on its right is a talksprite of Papyrus wearing sunglasses. End I.D.]

The Great Papyrus is the most popular Undertale character among the fans surveyed here. 19.6% of responders chose him as their favorite. That’s a total of 519 fans! (Wowie!!)

Not all Papyrus fans are unified on his characterization, however. The most obvious divide was between fans who call him a “cinnamon roll” or “precious baby,” and those who find these takes infantilizing. A lot of people like the friendliness and optimism of this character, while others recognize this but highlight his maturity too. Fans who worry about his infantilization seem most concerned with how he can be portrayed as naive or dumb by the fandom. A portion of fans specifically mentioned this naivety as a point in his favor, though the marginally more popular take seems to be that he is not naive, regardless of how he first appears. This fandom divide seems to relate to Papyrus’s autistic or ADHD coding. Many fans relate to him as ADHD and autistic themselves.

Fans also related to him in his desire for friends. Many responders think of him as a friend and a comfort character, so at least in one way his wish has been fulfilled.

The phone calls were a major reason that fans said they felt connected to Papyrus. Thanks to these calls, he has the most dialogue of any character in the game. His humor and dialogue were often highlighted as favorite qualities.

While fans may disagree on some aspects of Papyrus’s personality, it is clear that his fans all value his optimism and kindness. His fans do not see his kindness as weakness. Many talked about the complexity of his character and the strength it took for him to show mercy to the player character, even when the player doesn’t show it in return. He believes in himself, and he believes in you! This kindness and trust has inspired his fans to be kinder themselves.

Papyrus fans were also drawn to his mysteriousness. Several responses pointed out that he is a more mysterious character than Sans, who is also often loved for his mystery. As shown in the phone calls, Papyrus will put on fronts depending on who he is around, making it even more difficult for fans to uncover his secrets. Some people in other sections of the survey found this frustrating, but Papyrus fans tend to see it as another point in his favor.

Among the greatest proportion of responses were from fans who couldn’t choose a favorite trait, or who just love everything about Papyrus. While these responses may be less lengthy, they are still as full of love as the essay-length answers. These responses tended to say phrases like “cool dude” or “Papyrus my beloved” or “THE GREAT PAPYRUS.”

(You were overcome by writing about such a handsome skeleton. He understands.)

Highlights: (under the cut)

Honestly Papyrus just feels like joy. Funny, incredibly kind, with a few mysteries/weird quirks about him that are fun to ponder over. I especially love how he often acts proud and self aggrandizing without putting others down, and in fact sometimes uses that to lift his friends up alongside him. You don't see this take on proud characters often.

Papyrus is strong. Strong in body, but also morally strong. He knows what is right, what it means to be merciful and kind, even in the face of danger or death. Some think him naive. And yet, even facing death and seeing the dust of those he knew, he did not falter or turn from his ideals of mercy and change for the better.

BECAUSE HE IS THE GREAT PAPYRUS

His optimism and his overall personality is endearing! You're always having fun with him :D

He's meeting all of my standards.

Papyrus is very under appreciated, and overlooked, and it's very frustrating to me—he's a complex character but people treat him like he's a baby!!! I like him because he's kind of goofy with how he talks and he's just very charming and kind.

He's weirder than Sans, and it wasn't acknowledged for years because he acts oblivious and dumb, even when he's clearly not. Quite frankly, I find it iconic. Also, his entire personality helps a lot.

I'm ND, trans, and projecting!

OK SO he's just a friendly guy!! A dude who likes cooking for his friends!! We love a hype man!! Also smart as hell and I feel like fanon majorly overlooks this. Making good, fun puzzles is HARD and setting up a flamethrower to go off wirelessly is complicated. Like even if that bridge puzzle didn't go off the components were complicated. Love that cool dude!!!!

I heavily relate to Papyrus as a character and consider him my favorite fictional character of all time. He is a very well-written and thought out character with several quirks and layers in his personality. It is headcanoned by some (myself included) that Papyrus may possibly be on the Autism Spectrum due to his nature, his interactions with others, and overall how he displays himself to the world we see.

I could talk about Papyrus forever, and you have made a grave mistake in allowing me to do so. He is a charming, strong spirited, well intentioned, complex character that is often wildly misinterpreted, and I think originally this is why I was drawn to him. He is presented as one thing and in fact acts as one thing (though not the same way as presented by fandom), and in reality when you look closer than you are meant to he is not, in fact, any of these things. It was intriguing to me. Secondly, and rather contradictorily, another thing that drew me to him is that he is very true to himself, when it comes to idiosyncrasies and moral values. It's true that he does not offer much in the way of personal backstory and feelings, but he offers very much indeed in the way of personality. What a guy! He wears silly crop tops and bright colors, he speaks in a manner specific to him that sometimes doesn't make sense, he cares about something or someone and goes whole hog with it -- he's passionate, damn it! I love him and his weirdo, goofy self with all my heart. He cares about other people to a fault, too. He would sacrifice everything to help someone, and his belief in the potential of both others and himself is indomitable. When faced with the responsibility of a kingdom, his friends gone, his brother lying to him, and himself all alone without a reliable support system, he recognized what he was facing and still bucked up and became determined to get through it. When faced with a murderous, over powerful enemy, someone who had killed many of his friends and fellow monsters, someone who had repeatedly been rude and borderline aggressive and showed no signs of stopping, he saw that they were having difficulty and offered to help and to care for them, and didn't regret his decision or change his opinion on what they needed and their potential for change, even when quite literally killed by them a moment after. Even in death, even directly after a betrayal like that, he never stops believing that they can get better, that anyone can be a good person if they want to be. That's important, I think; that concept of giving people the chances they need to grow and to change. I have a tattoo of that moment on my thigh, it's that important to me. I guess I really like Papyrus because even though he is fictional, watching him out there makes it easy to believe in people, in our inherent goodness and desire to love each other. He makes it easy to see that we can change, that no matter what you've done in the past or who you currently are, no one is inherently a bad person, and no one is incapable of learning how to be a good one. It is just a step by step process that we have to take day by day.

[Image Description: A wordcloud shaped like Papyrus. His gloves, boots, and cape are red; his Battle Body is blue, yellow, and white; and his bones are white. Some of the most visible words are: Kind, Love, Good, Cool, Relate, Funny, Friend, Mystery, and Papyrus. These are the words that responders mentioned most in their essays about him. End I.D.]

Read the full list of responses shared with permission by clicking this link! (The document is 25 pages long, so you may want to make a copy to prevent lagging.)

#papyrus #character analysis #undertale #undertale fandom census #results

[ratherbefangirling]

"I wish I could show you the me without my mask, maybe if I had done things differently, I could. But still I want you to know, that I still need you, I always did, and I don't know what to do with myself, if I can't have you because the last part of me that lives; is in you."

🎭The Truth Untold🎭

She found herself in front of her first love but don't you know the myth about it?

'A first love never ends well'

Pairing : Namjoon x Reader ft. Taehyung

Genre : Mafia AU, Spy AU, Soft Yandere, Angst, Drama, Romance, Slow burn.

Synopsis : You discover your old best friend is now the head of the most dangerous mafia in the country. You go in to avenge your brother's death but things are more complicated than they seem.

Warning ⚠️: This is a work of fiction please proceed with caution. The actions of the characters are not always acceptable.

Masterlist || Next 》

The rain poured incessantly. You walked unaware of your surroundings.

Grief consumed you to the bone.

Why was life like this?

You could point when it all went wrong.

It was only a year ago that you were okay, when life was good.

Now you lived in a broken home and had been abandoned by your best friend.

Suddenly life had decided you needed to grow up. That you needed black and white in it.

So it took away all the colors you had taken for granted.

Your body shivered. And your vision went black.

Namjoon watched you from a distance.

His heart broke for you.

But he had to stay away for the time being for your sake.

As you fainted he rushed to catch you.

He could feel the weight you'd lost.

Were you eating well. How were you doing?

He dropped you infront of your house.

Waiting till your sister came out to check the door.

He could see her call the ambulance.

"It's time to go back master." His driver Wo Bin informed.

You weren't supposed to be a part of his life but now he couldn't imagine a life without you.

But he had to build a Safe Fort before he could claim his queen.

You looked at your younger sister Lisa and your half brother Yoongi.

Currently you were stuck having dinner with them, curtesy of your father.

You hated how close they were.

You blamed him for ruining your family.

He was your half brother whose existence had ruined yours.

Your dad's premarital mistake.

His mother had cancer.

So she had decided to reconnect with your father. Your father had accepted him.

You lived together stuck in a time bomb until you reached college. When your mom finally divorced your dad.

So it was safe to say he ruined your family.

He took away your sister too. Lisa was your baby, your bestie before he spoiled her and stole her.

Only because your dad insisted you to come spend time together. You still stuck out like a sore thumb.

"I'm tired I think I'll take a nap if you don't mind." You tell them and go to your old room in your dad's house.

Sleep evades you so you decide to look around.

You stumble upon your old scrap book.

You are in awe at how colorful it is.

You look in the mirror to see how monotonous you've become. Your wardrobe is practically black and white these days.

You turn the pages until you find a picture of Namjoon.

Your best friend and your first love.

The person who always chose you whether it was to hang out or for group projects.

There wasn't anything you couldn't convince Namjoon to do, you remember fondly.. until one day he too left.

I miss you joon could you please come back?

You had prayed countless times waited for days at your usual spot sometimes even now you'd go there it was easier to pretend he was lost in the way than to admit he was never coming.

You still sent messages to him to his old phone number. It had become your diary at this point.

"The food is ready." Yoongi informs you bringing you to the bleak reality.

You nod.

You sit at the table and eat together.

"So I'm going to get internship and guess where it's going to be." Lisa says.

"Where?"

"Songju." Your sister replies.

You almost choke on your food. It's the place Yoongi lives.

"Dad said I can live with you yoongi hyung." Lisa says excitement coating her voice.

"But doesn't he have a roommate?" You say, alarmed.

"It doesn't matter beside his roommate is cute unni."

"He's a good guy." Yoongi says trying to assure you.

Your sisters indiscretion is the reason why a month later you find yourself shifting in with Yoongi and his roommate along with your sister.

Taehyung was aware you were coming. He was curious about you simply because Lisa talked a lot about you and Yoongi never did. He had met Lisa before she was fun and oftentimes silly.

When he saw you he was awestruck. They had forgotten to tell him how attractive you'd look. There was something about you that had his heart racing.

He tried calming himself down. It wouldn't do well to stare at you, he wasn't a creep.

Lisa goes to you, glad to see her sister.

He waits for the both of you in the car.

Lisa looped your arm with hers and without waiting for your response and began to update you.

"There's this cute guy in my chemistry class. I can't tell you how good he is sister." She prattles.

"You should stay away from boys it's enough your living with them because of you I had to move in."

"You're the best sis ever." She butters.

You load your bags in the car. Taehyung comes to help you.

"Thank you." You say politely.

You notice his handsome features.

"Kim Taehyung." He introduces.

"Y/f/n. Nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine."

You give him a flat smile. You guys take the car to reach the residence. He helps you unload.

You are grateful that Yoongi is not home. You were dreading seeing him.

Taehyung you didn't feel that awkward with. He seemed alright for now.

Over the next few days you were surprised you didn't hate Yoongi that much. But more often than not you found yourself avoiding him. This made you share chores with Taehyung.

Taehyung you had discovered was a little unusual but in a good way. He definitely made you laugh more than you had in years.

"I'm having a birthday party." Lisa declared one fine evening over dinner.

"Only because you want to have Jungkook home are you going to steal our calm weekend." Yoongi comments.

For once you agree.

"I hate to agree with Yoongi but he's right." You say.

She looks at Taehyung.

"You guys need to hang out with more people also after all its her birthday." Tae points out.

"You're the best taetae~" Your sister declares.

You scoff, the girl has zero loyalty.

Reluctant as you are. There isn't much you can deny your sister.

You three take it upon yourself to organise the party.

Yoongi is responsible for the food.

You and Tae for the cake and decorations.

Also for passing the messages between you and yoongi.

You don't mind Tae though since highschool got over you've not made any new friends.

You both set out to make arrangements.

At first you go to the bakery to order her a cake.

Then you go to the mall to buy her a gift and decorations.

You buy balloons, invites and other decorations.

You decide to get her clothes for a gift.

You go to buy clothes.

"What about this one." You ask Tae.

"It looks good but it won't look good on her." Tae says.

"Taehyung we've been here for hours." You complain.

"True but we need a good dress as a gift." He says and you very reluctantly agree. He had an eye for fashion.

He picked some dresses.

"Go try them on." He commands.

"Taehyung..."

"Go on you aren't actually planning to wear the plain black and white are you.. you look good in everything but a change will do you good." He says.

For some reason you decide to agree. You're tired of yourself being bitter all the time. Maybe it's best to let go of the past.

Of Namjoon.

But somehow it seemed the opposite.

"Come on you look gorgeous in it you have to buy it." Taehyung says.

You have to agree wearing something other than black and white feels free even if your brain finds it unsettling and it matches the amethyst necklace joon had gifted you. One that has been stored away for a long long time.

"Fine." You say.

Taehyung almost jumps in excitement.

You laugh at his enthusiasm.

Maybe everything would be alright.

Some day, maybe?

The party comes and things go pretty smoothly.

Lisa is glowing with happiness. She hugs you when she spots you in your new dress.

"I almost cried." She admits.

You laugh.

She makes you meet Jungkook, the reason she decided to keep the party in the first place.

"Hello Noona." He greets you not even meeting your eyes.

"Hello Jungkook. Have fun okay." You tell the shy boy.

"But not too much." Yoongi supplies.

"Hyung. I will be careful thank you for the food."

Soon Lisa whisks him away.

Unknown to you there are two pairs of eyes following you.

Taehyung looks at you seeing you in the dress he chose does things to his heart he can't understand.

When the music starts he approaches you.

"Care to dance."

"Sure." You say adrenaline in your system letting him lead you.

You dance with no inhibitions.

You feel good after so long.

When you feel Taehyung touch you you respond instead of pushing him. For once you want to feel warm and wanted.

Taehyung is good enough. Your best bet.

You let him lead you to the balcony.

You let him place his lips on yours.

When someone pushes him away and punches him.

▶️Hey Joon, I'm trying to forget you I'm not doing a good job though.

The person who makes me forget you reminds me of you.

Kim Taehyung.. funny huh? He has caramel skin and a deep voice that's like yours but not yours.

He makes me laugh. He's strange not like you but in his own way but it reminds me of how I was always laughing with you.

I'm tired of being like this joon. I just- I don't know what to do anymore *sigh*... that's it for today talk to you later..

Authors Note 📝

This was supposed to be a one shot ... oh well.. at least it ended in a good cliff hanger. I promise I didn't intend for this but tumblr said I reached the limit. Wait for part two... apparently this is going to be series.

It's my first time writing yandere I hope it goes well and I know Namjoon didn't get screen time but we need to set the background also this is only going to get more confusing you've been warned.

Like, share and reblog, thank you '-'

Please let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :)

|| Next 》

#Spotify #bts fanfic #bts au #bts angst #bts x reader #bts #bts rm #kim namjoon #kim taehyung #min yoongi #kim namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x you #kim namjoon x y/n #namjoon x reader #yandere namjoon #namjoon imagine #namjoon x you #namjoon x y/n #yandere bts #mafia au #bts mafia fic #bts mafia au #taehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #taehyung x y/n

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Heads: Toji Fushiguro x Fem!Reader

synopsis: What's a fancy dinner date without some fancy dinner tension?

wc: 1.3 k

tw: NSFW because it's Toji. What did you expect?

A Grand 300 Celebration Fic

“This is a fancy restaurant…” you look around the beautiful steakhouse in awe, clutching your purse at your side. Toji Fushiguro brushes his fingers against your arm, smiling as he devours you with his emerald eyes.

“Anything for you, kitten.” The waiter leads you both to a table where there are only two chairs, sitting directly across from each other.

“Your server will be with you shortly.”

As the waiter walks off, you eye the one page menu with delight, noticing the lack of prices. Toji had asked you to dress up “nice” and said he would too, but showed up in a cream-colored sweater and black pants. At least it wasn’t the black t-shirt that almost always smelled like grass and dirt. And blood.

“Wait…” You put the menu down, a reasonable thought leaking into your mind. “Who’s paying for this?” At your question, Toji lets out a sharp laugh, attracting the attention of a few patrons who sat nearby.

“Darling, I bring you to a fancy restaurant - instead of takeout on the couch - and you ask who’s paying for it?” You look at him, unamused, and he clears his throat, looking back down at the menu. “I may or may not have come into some money recently.”

“So, should I call the fraud department now or--” Toji whips out his billfold and flashes the colored bills at you quickly, tucking them back into his pocket. “Ah.”

“You know,” He slides a hand under the table to touch your leg. “I had a dream about these beautiful legs wrapped around my waist last night.”

“Oh…” It suddenly dawns on you why Toji brought you here in the first place. His brows wiggle over his fox-like gaze and you roll your eyes, scooting your chair back slightly. “Can we eat first before you attempt to hump me over the table, or is that too much to ask?” Before Toji can retort, the server comes up to your table, eyes bright with excitement at the attractive couple he gets to entertain for the evening.

“Hello, my name is John, and I’ll be your server this evening. Might I start you two off with something to drink? A red wine or prosecco to start?”

“I would love to have a bottle of prosecco, John. Whatever you recommend,” you coo, and Toji’s eyes flick to you, frowning.

“And I’ll take a glass of rum,” he gripes, rolling his eyes at the way the young man eagerly takes his order down.

“Any preference on brand, sir?”

“Fucking rum, John. Whatever you have that doesn’t taste like fermented piss.”

“Toji,” you hiss, nudging his knee with the toe of your shoe under the table. “I’m sorry about my boyfriend; he’s not used to being in establishments like this.”

“Like hell, I’m not,” Toji grumbles, feeling the toe of your shoe hovering near his balls.

“It’s alright, ma’am. I’ll be right back with your drinks.” As the youth walks away, you turn back to the man, glaring daggers.

“Stop being a fucking asshole,” you snap with clenched teeth.

“I’ll show you a--”

“Listen, let’s just have a nice dinner, yeah?” you interrupt, and Toji sighs, looking away. “Then we can argue on the way back home, and you can hate-fuck me twenty ways to Sunday.”

“Ooh, I like that plan.”

Toji wasn’t crazy. You were flirting with the server and being overly nice. But the moment Toji’s eyes slid to a sultry blonde sashaying past, the flames in your chest began anew. Your relationship is... complicated, to say the least. As a sorcerer, you were his top priority to exterminate at any point in time. Toji - who lacked even a drop of cursed energy - had wanted your head just as much as you wanted his. But the first time he tried to kill you, you both had stopped mid-fight, wondering what it was all for. Here you were, two attractive young people, fighting to the death over some stupid rules. But the second time he tried to kill you, he sent you to heaven with his tongue; the third time was with his incredible prowess in bed.

So, you suppose you did have his head at some point.

Ha.

“What’re you thinking about?” Toji wonders as you laugh, lacing his fingers together and resting his chin on them. “Let me guess, it’s about John, isn’t it?” When you don’t answer, he scoffs, running his hands through his hair. “You just enjoy this dinner. Once we get home, I’ll make sure to fuck any memory of that kid right out of your head.”

Oh, and he had your head, too.

__________________________________________

“We should probably leave before we start a scandal,” you moan, hands pressed against the stall door as Toji plows into you from behind.

“Let them talk,” he replies, holding your shoulder tightly. You hang your head low, hair coming undone from its bun, just how Toji likes it. You had gone too far in your flirtations tonight, from asking John how much he made to work here, then offering him a job working for your family in their restaurant. Toji’s eyes bore into your head when you said those words, half-drunk on six glasses of rum. Your family didn’t even own a fucking restaurant. You were just trying to get closer to the blushing youth, who denied your offer swiftly, citing his comfort at working here.

But once dinner was over, and Toji actually paid the bill - whereupon he noticed the ten digits scribbled at the top of the receipt - he pulled you into a bathroom, pushed you into a stall, and hiked your dress above your shaking knees with ease.

“You really thought I was going to let you leave here without giving you what you want so badly, huh?” he grunts behind you, and you smile slyly at no one but yourself.

“Jealousy seems to be a great motivator for you,” you answer, looking over your shoulder into his green eyes shamelessly. His fingers find your clit and rub vigorously, stimulating you while he continues to rut against your hips..

“You never cease to amaze me,” Toji grumbles, and you grasp the arm that’s rubbing your clit, teetering on the edge of an orgasm.

“T-Toji…” you whimper, but he doesn’t let up at all. If you were being honest, it felt like he sped his motions up significantly so he could make you cum even faster. The door to the bathroom creaks open and you press your lips together so no one could hear you choke out a moan. You’re thankful he chose the handicap stall in the back, but you were keenly aware that this was not a men’s restroom. The person who enters doesn’t seem to notice, or if they do, care, and continues their business while Toji slows his thrusts to make them soundless. But when he reduced his speed, he deepened the depth of each stroke, kissing your cervix with the tip of his dick.

When the bathroom door opens and closes again, Toji picks up his speed and you moan loudly, releasing the built-up sound. “Go ahead and cum, kitten,” he purrs into your ear, and that’s all it takes for the cord to snap. You shake violently in his arms, trying to keep your footing as he continues to fuck you, the sound of something wet hitting the floor as your mouth opens in a wide “o”.

When you come down from the orgasm, Toji removes himself from inside of you and tucks his rock-hard cock back into his pants. You look up at him in confusion, but he ignores you, snatching up your underwear and stuffing it into his pants pocket.

“Glad I wore black pants because you squirted all over me.”

“Wait, you’re not--”

“I’m going to save my dessert for when we get home,” he jerks his chin at you, sliding your dress back down into place. “Hey, we could call John to come and watch, couldn’t we?”

#jujutsu kaisen toji #jjk toji #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk #jujutsu kaisen

[lilover131]

Chapter 56 Analysis+Theories

AHHHHHH CHAPTER 56 AHHHHHH!!! <--Chrissy every time a chapter comes out

I wasn’t as hyped up about this one as I was for the last one thankfully, seeing as we didn’t have a super long wait, but I certainly don’t want to diminish in any way the importance of this chapter!!!

I won’t waste any time and will get right to it, so buckle in, cuz’ the theory train is coming! More under the cut!

 So I’ll start by saying that when I first read the chapter, it was 2 AM where I was. I had been sleeping and just kinda magically woke up right when the chapter just came out, so I like to think there was some fate there. But when I opened that chapter on my phone and the first thing I saw was that Syaoran color spread, I audibly gasped and instantly woke up a bit.

 I woke up not because it was absolutely stunning to look at, or even at the fact that we haven’t had Syaoran in a color page for a while. No, the thing that caught my attention was the serious atmosphere it contained and the tone that it seemingly set. To me, this was one of CLAMP’s subtle ways of saying “Prepare for the final battle”. I could be reading into it too much, but I was right about what I believed the Syaoran and Kaito color page insinuated, so I’m gonna stick to my guns here.

 We start off the chapter without a moment’s pause where we left off last time. It continues right from the last point of the conversation where Sakura dropped the bombshell that she had seen Kaito use magic. She seems to think that they may not believe her at first, but Syaoran interrupts her to affirm that he 100% believes her and that he even already knew. Sakura is naturally confused by this, but he finally FINALLY gets to tell her what he’s been dealing with this whole time, and it definitely seems to be an uncomfortable topic for him. But at least this time he got to tell Sakura truthfully that he hadn’t ever intended on keeping this from her but was physically not able to. Despite not needing to feel guilty about this, Syaoran seems uncomfortable for the simple fact that someone else had that much control over him, and he was unable to do a thing to stop it. It’s also important to keep in mind that Kero and Suppi were hearing this for the first time themselves as well (about the silencing at least).

 Not much time passes after this before Kero and Suppi fess up to also knowing about Kaito, but they admit that theirs was a conscious decision rather than force, but that they believe they too would have been silenced like Syaoran was had they attempted to speak. One could say that since they didn’t know Syaoran was silenced in the way he was that this is not entirely truthful or was just a bad decision, but in reality it still makes perfect sense why they thought to be more careful. They saw Kaito’s magic first hand violently take down Eriol, and if he could shut down a magician of that caliber from halfway across the world, then he could easily do the same or worse to the guardians. And since they also weren’t yet aware of his true intentions with Sakura, it would have been likely seen as dangerous to provoke him and possibly put Sakura in harm’s way. I guess the only thing that doesn’t make much sense to me is why Syaoran and the guardians didn’t collaborate and put together what they knew sooner. Even when Yue went to Syaoran’s apartment, the topic of Kaito or Eriol never came up, and since they both clearly had Sakura’s best interest in mind, I’m not sure specifically why they chose to keep their information to themselves when they both knew they had the same goal. This, I would say, was actually a bad decision on their part, but when it comes down to it, they’re not perfect and everyone makes mistakes (I think Cinzia made the same point here, so I apologize if it seems like I’m copying here! I just also agree when it comes to this).

 I’m actually going to pull in a little thing I learned from my counselor not long ago when I felt guilt over a particular decision I had made long ago, and that is that you can only work based on the emotions and information you have at the time. And because we don’t know the future, it is not possible to always make the right decisions, but there is also no telling if our decisions would have changed things for the better, so it is best not to dwell on them. I believe truly that based on what they knew at the time and through the experiences they had, they were likely only trying to protect each other, but missed that they could have probably helped each other. It’s easy to miss things when you’re on the defensive.

 What I love about Sakura after this is that she forgives them immediately. This is not the first time she’s had things hidden from her for her protection, and naturally it’s upsetting to not feel like you can be trusted to deal with the serious information. When Syaoran told her how he’d been hiding what he knew before, she was upset but more because she thought he suffered as a result. This time around though, they concealed things from her not because they were worried about how she’d handle it, but rather out of fear from what Kaito would do if they tried, so it’s a completely different reason and much easier to forgive. Sakura is able to differentiate this, because she is a very emotionally intelligent girl and a lot more observant than she gets credit for when it comes to reading people. She’s grown a lot and isn’t as ‘dense’ as she was in Elementary School.

 Then we get a precious gift of seeing Syaoran show off how smart he is, working out how Kaito managed to make them forget about said confrontation at the botanical garden. He’s probably thought about it a lot already, considering he mentioned before that he felt like someone made him forget something. But this time, he had additional information that Sakura was able to provide, and this was the final piece of the puzzle he needed. The most important detail that Sakura gave him was the location in particular, the botanical garden. He knew that that was where they intended to go, but that they had yet to go there. This prompted him to check his phone and see how much time might have passed without them realizing, and because he knew what time he had arranged to meet Sakura, 9:30 AM, he was able to observe that it was impossible for them to meet, go to the botanical garden, have this encounter with Kaito, and both get back to their houses in only 16 minutes. This meant it was not just a mere meddling of memories but rather time magic as it was the only explanation for the time discrepancy issue and memory loss. I can’t say how freaking proud I was of Syaoran for working this out. He’s such a smart boy, but I know that Sakura also would have been able to come to the same conclusion had she had more knowledge about the magical world. Sakura is running on pure instinct right now, which is super strong, but Syaoran really helps fill in those gaps where things don’t make sense for her, making them the perfect magical team!  

 The scene changes to Momo, who appears to be keeping tabs on the conversation (though it’s unclear if Kaito is aware while they are under Siege). And this part is perhaps the most worrying of the entire chapter, and I’m not talking about the line where the English translation says “Into the final act of your story”. That line in particular is a gross mistranslation cleared up by @meimi-haneoka​, who graciously gives us translation notes each month in comparison to the Japanese version. The actual line in fact says “Into the final act of THE story”. This changes the entire tone of that page as the first translation implies it is leading to Kaito’s death, whereas the Japanese translation actually more implies that we’re nearing the climax of the story. Momo’s facial expressions also match the wording of the Japanese translation better, as we know she does not seem to want Kaito to die, so she would certainly look more upset here if she were speaking of such a thing. Also, I have to speak up about how pretttyyyy Kaito looks in that panel. The way CLAMP designed that page is just stunning as always.

 HOWEVER

 Back to what I was saying before! The most concerning part of the chapter for me is the page right before that, where Momo says “Once a spell’s been seen for what it is, it all comes crumbling down. Particularly, where time magic is concerned. And that’s to say nothing of your target’s considerable power. Now everything you’d turned back time to undo. Everything you’ve succeeded in freezing…is beginning to move again”. So here comes Chrissy’s big crazy theory and possible overthinking, but bear with me here!

I think…that what they are saying here is that these moments that were frozen in time and turned back were cut off from the timeline and now floating in a separate space. And now these scenes, which were all intense in their own way and incredibly frustrating for us, are about to move forward.

….all of them….

….at the same time….

This concept isn’t exactly new in CLAMP series. It happened with Tsubasa where Syaoran turned back time to go back to a moment where he could take Sakura’s hand and keep her from being cursed, and to keep that moment ready until he could return, it was in its own separate dimension, cut off from the rest of the universe. Eventually, once he got there, time started to move forward again. Turning back time is a taboo in the magical world for a reason, and Kaito has done this over and over and over again. But also, wouldn’t it be so like CLAMP to say “Hey, we know you’ve been frustrated that all these scenes were seemingly amping up to a big confrontation, but then Kaito rewound time over and over, so how about we give those back….ALL AT THE SAME TIMMMMEE?”. Can you even imagine the consequences of such a thing? At least three of the occasions where Kaito turned back time, Akiho went into what I call ‘book-mode’, where she is no longer herself and tries to absorb Sakura along with her magic (and even succeeds on one occasion). Then there is also Syaoran and Kaito’s battle and Syaoran having his outburst about Kaito being a magician right in front of Akiho. It would be absolute utter chaos, and honestly I’d be living for it. Lmao.

If you believe that this line Momo said was simply to state that his time magic won’t work anymore and that things will continue to progress in this timeline, that would make perfect sense as well, so I don’t want to discount that. I’m just throwing out theories here based on what I know about CLAMP and concepts that are not out of the realm of possibility.

The scenes from here on out bounce a little bit back and forth from a continuation of the conversation with Syaoran and the guardians and present time with Akiho at school. I kinda like the way they did the transitions here, and it didn’t really feel awkward at any point but rather pulled up the relevant information when it was needed.

When Akiho comes in to the classroom, Sakura recalls how the topic of Akiho came up in the conversation from the day before. It’s natural for everyone to question at this point what she knows and if she is someone to be concerned about too. Syaoran mentions that he can’t detect any magic from her, which was something he had looked into from the very first day Akiho arrived at Tomoeda Middle (he knew literally nothing about her, but you know how transfer students go in this town. Lmao). Sakura drops another bombshell here by saying that she actually senses something in Akiho, but she is unclear of what that is and why she feels that way. It’s completely likely that she’s strong enough now to sense the suppressed magic spell the association and her clan put on her. I also noticed Syaoran seemed to tense up when Sakura said this, and I’m sure that this new information probably made him feel very uneasy. Sakura’s instincts are never wrong, and if she feels something, that means there is something, but to think that it’s something even Syaoran can’t sense would definitely be concerning.

 It is then that Syaoran decides to approach the idea of addressing Akiho directly about Kaito’s magic to see what she knows. Maybe at this point in time he is thinking “If she possibly has some sort of magic in her, then she might know already about Kaito”, but like Sakura, he has seen Akiho’s behavior as a person and probably believes that she is not doing anything malicious of her own accord. Perhaps he thinks that Akiho might be able to talk some sense into Kaito and put a stop to things. But the way he goes about it doesn’t push Sakura, but rather just offers it as a suggestion as something a bit more direct.

 Before we see Sakura’s response to this, we are back to Akiho in the classroom and she is very cheerful from having gone out with Kaito the day prior, and OMG CAN I JUST GUSH FOR A MOMENT ABOUT HOW FREAKING PRECIOUS SHE IS? She is seriously adorable, and the more I see her smile, the more it makes me want to burn her whole clan down to the ground for being so awful to her. But also, it reminds me how strong she is to have gone through everything she did and still smile and hold no hatred in her heart. I can’t honestly say I would be the same in her shoes, so it’s really admirable. For those My Hero Academia fans out there, remember Eri’s smile? You know the one I’m talking about. That’s how I feel every time Akiho smiles.

Anyways, back to Sakura’s response. She decides, in a very Sakura-like fashion, to avoid the subject with Akiho for now. It is true that they don’t fully understand who Kaito is and what his intentions are, but the one thing she does know is that he is considered precious to Akiho, and that at least says something about his character. Akiho herself also isn’t an idiot and is perceptive to Kaito’s feelings. Even when he’s smiling, she can tell when he’s actually hurting inside, so if he had bad intentions at all, that likely wouldn’t go unseen either, so Sakura decides that she’ll wait for Akiho to come to her first if the discussion between them needs to happen. I think this is a very mature decision on her part but also continues to show how much she considers the people around her and cares for them.

Back in the present, Akiho apologizes for talking so much, and Sakura tells her that she doesn’t mind and will listen to whatever she has to say. More than just trying to show good will as a friend, I think this is also her way of opening up the door to tell her “If you want to talk about more serious things, I’m here to listen as well”. That way, when the time comes, Akiho will feel comfortable having that conversation with her.

The scene moves on to Yukito’s home where all the guardians are having a nice little get together in their true forms. It’s not entirely necessary for all but Yue to do this, but I love it as we haven’t gotten to see much of them in these forms in the series so far, especially Spinel and Ruby Moon. Ruby Moon is surprised that they decided to go along with what Sakura said, which I suppose makes sense considering they’ve been kinda doing their own thing up until now. But it turns out that it was Syaoran who made the final decision, and the others just took his lead.

 I love that Syaoran was so comfortable just trusting Sakura and realizing that this time, they needed to let her make some choices, especially since it concerned her the most. Moreover, I love that Kero, Suppi, and Yue just basically caved when Syaoran agreed. This shows how much they respect the opinion of not just Sakura, but Syaoran too. They could have easily gone off and continued to work secretly without Sakura, but they didn’t do that. It obviously didn’t work well for them before anyways.

 I cracked up when Ruby Moon mentioned how much Syaoran has grown a lot and used to be a ‘pouty brat’ back when they were in Japan the last time (in his defense, Eriol was screwing with him a lot, so he had a lot of good reasons for the bratty attitude. Lmao). But Kero and Yue’s responses are just precious. They both have the same expression initially, but their actual responses seem to differ quite a bit. Kero states that he will always be a brat to him and that he’s only grown ‘a little’. This is classic Kero essentially saying he agrees that he’s grown a lot, but he won’t admit it yet, hence why Spinel calls him childish. Hahahaha.

Yue’s response however makes me absolutely melt. He states he’s not upset about the mention of Syaoran’s growth, but that that he doesn’t think they “should be in such a hurry to grow up”. He sounds just like a freaking dad here who is happy to see his children grow up, but is also wanting to them to slow down and stay children simultaneously. I am absolutely living for it, and I love seeing how soft he gets when it comes to them. -squeals-

Despite how lighthearted this scene is, I’m gonna put out another theory here that might seem like I’m overthinking and perhaps makes this appear a bit darker than possibly intended. My thought was “Why did CLAMP put such focus on this subject right now?”. They could have simply stated that they decided to go along with Sakura and been done with it, but the made a point to talk about the children’s growth as human beings, particularly Syaoran. Now where am I going with this you ask? Perhaps it’s the Tsubasa PTSD speaking, but when CLAMP has dialogue like this, it usually it done quite purposely at times, because it is meant to enhance our emotions when a particular moment comes later on. So when I thought “Now, why would they be talking so much about how Syaoran’s grown emotionally and how much Kero and Yue care about him?”. I think they are trying to emphasize how much people in general care about him. CLAMP showed it again recently with Touya, who threatened Kaito and purposely included Syaoran in his statement, and again when Kaito pointed his staff at Syaoran and Sakura reacted. CLAMP is pointing out right now how much people care about Syaoran, and I think this is once again a signal that something bad is going to happen to Syaoran, and I think it’s going to be soon.

 Now, Cinzia actually recently found my reaction to spoilers of chapter 1 of Clear Card (that’s right, chapter 1 from all the way back in 2016), and from the very beginning, I have been screaming at the top of my lungs that I had the worst feeling that something bad was going to happen to Syaoran. I imagine some of you are probably tiring of hearing it from me. Lmao. So here we are, 55 chapters and numerous bad dreams later, and I finally feel like that time is really really close. I’m calling it right now that it will probably happen within the next 4-5 chapters, and if I’m wrong, I will eat my words, but them even putting Syaoran on the color page all by himself for this chapter gives me more reason to think that “that time” is approaching.

 That is a good transition for me to talk about the last part of this chapter. We are finally getting some progress on this play Naoko has been writing, and the moment she mentioned it was about “Twin Alices”, I thought to myself “this is going to be where the climax happens”. The pieces are coming together for it, and we’ve finally gotten to hear the premise of this play. We all knew Naoko would ask Sakura and Akiho to play the main roles, but it’s unclear what the role she wants for Syaoran will be when she inevitably peer pressures him into it. Lol. But I’m telling you, I really think this play is where shit is going to hit the fan and we’ll finally get some real answers.

I can’t wait to see what happens from here on out, but it’s very clear to me that things are just going to get more and more intense from here on out!!

#cardcaptor sakura #clear card #chapter 56 #spoilers #theories #analysis #chrissy talks a lot #chrissy really just wrote 7 pages about this #forgive my crazy theories #I am always concerned #Tsubasa ptsd #CLAMP why do you do this to me? #syaoran #sakura #akiho #kero #yue #ruby moon #spinel sun #suppi #kaito #momo #manga

[holykillercake]

Love Ordeal

SANJI X f!READER

word count: 2k

summary: The Strawhts decide to play Secret Davy Treasure and Sanji doens´t stop asking whom you got. 

highlight:  ¨Sanji,¨ you sighed ¨I love you, but if you don´t stop, I will be forced to throw your cigarettes in the ocean and straighten your eyebrows.¨

warning: F.L.U.F.F.

notes: Guys! This a part 2/3 of a request for a fluff where they have a s/o that made them a thing with crochet and how they would react. Also, Secret Davy Treasure is like Secret Santa, but you know. ALSO, there is a surprise at the end! 

𝕷𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘, 𝖗𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖘, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊!

¨Just pick one, Luffy!¨

¨But which one?¨

¨It doesn´t matter!¨

¨Hmm, can I pick two?¨

¨NO!¨

Earlier that day, an old lady told Nami that whichever path Luffy chose would always lead to another Winter Island. So with the end of the year approaching and the cold weather, you decided to play Secret Davy Treasure, a great South Blue tradition.

It consisted of the participants writing their names on a piece of paper, mixing them in a bowl - or Luffy's hat - and drawing them.  Whoever’s name you picked is who you will buy or make a Secret Davy Treasure.

You should have guessed that even something that sounded so simple would be complicated in the Thousand Sunny. The crew didn´t seem to understand nor follow the rules of physics, reality, and the game. 

At first, Zoro folded his paper with his name on the outside; then Brook picked himself and didn´t tell anyone. Now you were struggling with Luffy, who couldn´t pick one because A) he wanted to know what was written inside, and B) he wanted to pick more than one. 

While Franky, Usopp, and Chopper yelled at him, trying to make him understand, Brook laughed at the whole situation, and the rest of you wished to die and get reborn as clams. 

Sanji adjusted the blanket around your bodies and hugged you tighter, chatting until the commotion was over.  

¨Will you tell me?¨ he blew some smoke, and you tilted your head to look at him. 

¨Tell what?¨

¨Who you got.¨

¨What? Of course no!¨ you laughed ¨This is not how you play it!¨

¨But we are a couple, Y/N-chan!¨

¨.., and?¨ you sang the word.

¨We shouldn't keep secrets from each other!¨

A cloud of white smoke came out of your mouth when you giggled before snuggling deeper in his arms. 

¨Okaay,¨ Usopp crawled closer to you, defeated and holding Luffy´s hat ¨he will be the last one.¨

Despite your captain yelling that he should be the first to pick, you were all getting tired and opted to ignore him. 

¨Thanks!¨ you used the blanket to cover yourself as you unfolded it.

A chuckle left your mouth when you saw the name written, and the blonde behind you tried to peek over your shoulder. But you were faster to put the piece of paper with the name of your boyfriend inside your bra.

You turned and gave him a peck on the cheek while he pouted. 

You would have one week to come up with a Davy Treasure for Sanji, and you knew exactly what to do, but some butterflies still flew in your belly, wondering if he would like it. 

As a matter of fact, he loved everything you did, from sweet love to extremely salty culinary disasters. He would find perfection in every little thing done by you.

Enjoying your last days on the island of Snow Globe Pole - yeah, almost as bad as ¨Long Ring Long Land¨ - you decided to tour the city, looking for what you needed to make your gift. Or rather, to crochet your gift.

That was the easy part, for you were on a winter island, yarn and wool were pretty abundant. Every style possible of every possible color, anything that crossed your mind was available in the store. It would have been distracting if you didn´t have the colors already chosen. 

But again, so much for an innocent game. So much for a bit of fun. So naive to believe that Sanji would stop asking you whom you picked. 

In his defense, he had gotten calmer during the first night. But after seeing the bag you brought from the store, he became even more annoying. 

Charming, loving, but still annoying. 

¨It´s not Franky, right? His hands wouldn´t fit in it.¨

¨His regular-sized-robotic-mannequin hands would.¨ you looked at him with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. 

You could almost see the gasp stuck in his throat and his heart skipping a beat. 

After that, he kept bringing you desserts, offering massages, and doing everything in his power to bribe you. Skypiea Sanji was not the real Love Ordeal. Secret Davy Treasure Sanji was the real Love Ordeal. 

¨Sanji,¨ you sighed ¨I love you, but if you don´t stop, I will be forced to throw your cigarettes in the ocean and straighten your eyebrows.¨

He grumbled ¨I love you¨ back among some other things and marched to the kitchen with flames on the top of his head. You chuckled and went back to your colorful wools. 

Before you chose his gift, you thought about Sanji and the things that he liked or needed. From cooking to smoking and women. 

Cooking for him would be outrageous. You wanted to give him something amazing, and you couldn't compare to him in the kitchen. At all.

Women. You were the only woman he wanted and needed, and honestly, you were the woman for the job. 

Now, smoking. You would not buy or make him cigarettes, obviously. But he had this adorable and clumsy thing of always burning the tips of his mittens whenever he lit a cigarette. 

Because of that, you decided to crochet him one of those fingerless gloves that come with a mitten flap so he could cover his fingers once he was done. Like that, he would be warm and natural disaster-free. 

¨There is orange, Y/N-chan! You got Nami, right?!¨ you jumped and almost stabbed yourself with the hook when he yelled in your ear.

¨Oh, my sweet Davy Jones, give me strength...¨ you whispered ¨There is also purple, Sanji-kun. It could be Brook or Robin.¨ 

He pondered over it a little, frowned, and made his way to the door.

¨Hey!¨ he turned with sad puppy eyes ¨Is this really important to you? To know who I got?¨ he nodded. 

You gestured with your head, telling him to come closer. A big and bright smile appeared on his face, and your heart beat stronger. That smile, you would punch the Red Line broken to create another All Blue for that smile. 

Oh, how you love this cook. 

¨Ok! Just because I am asking I´ll tell you first, ok?¨ he spoke with a lower voice but still sparkly. You smiled and nodded. ¨I got Chopper! And I bought him a new backpack with a lot of compartments for his medical stuff.¨

The way he paid attention to the tiny details made you melt. He was always taking care of others, complimenting the crew - except Zoro - and celebrating even the smallest of the successes. 

He showed you the blue backpack, very similar to Chopper´s current one, but a lot stronger, prettier, and more practical. He would love it, no doubts. 

¨Well,¨ you began ¨I got... Usopp.¨ 

You felt terrible about telling him a lie, but you couldn´t spoil your surprise.

 ¨Since we´re going to winter islands, I don´t want his finger to get tangled when, Uhm... he´s picking his Ketchup Stars, Green Stars, or Let´s-scare-creepy-girls-to-death Stars. I really hope he likes it.¨

If you were not paying enough attention, you would have missed Sanji´s disappointed look, which he quickly hid with a kind smile. 

¨You always think about everything, Y/N-chan. He will love it.¨ he kissed your forehead and went back to the kitchen. 

You waited until he closed the door to cringe ¨You are going to hell, Y/N.¨ 

Finally, the Secret Davy Treasure day arrived. You would exchange gifts and then have a nice dinner if Luffy didn´t make a party out of it. He definitely would. 

But you were also grateful that today was the day. Since you told Sanji that you had picked Usopp, he has been acting a little upset. The other guys didn´t notice, but you did. 

You would always notice. And you had an idea why. 

The gift exchanging rules were pretty simple.  The Secret Davy had to offer information about the person receiving the treasure, and the others had to guess. 

It started with Usopp, whose Secret Davy was Franky. He gave him a bunch of super tools and some colored light bulbs for the ¨Party Nipple¨ idea.

Franky´s Secret Davy was Robin. He gave her a journal with waterproof pages he created. 

Robin´s Secret Davy was you, and she presented you with a beautiful copy of a fictional adventure book since you were always reading them on the ship.

Then it was your turn. You held the gift wrapped in a shiny blue paper and began to describe your Secret Davy. 

¨My Secret Davy is... slightly annoying sometimes.¨

¨It´s the stupid-eyebrow.¨ Zoro said.

¨Shut up, marimo head!¨

You continued after Nami punched them. ¨My Secret Davy always takes care of us.¨ 

¨It´s Chopper!¨ you shook your head.

¨Hmm... my Secret Davy is an exceptional fighter! Really strong!¨ 

¨It´s me!¨ 

¨No, Zoro! It´s me! I will become the Pirate King!¨ 

¨Shut up, you two!¨

¨My Secret Davy is...¨ you looked at Sanji and smiled ¨... loving and caring.¨ 

He looked back at you, confused.  Why would you say those about Usopp? Not that he wasn´t loving and caring, but... still. 

¨My Secret Davy is... the man of my dreams, the prince of my fairy tale, and the love of my life.¨

A minute or two passed while everyone waited for Sanji to say something, but he remained frozen with a perplexed expression. 

¨Sanji-san, I think the treasure is yours.¨ Brook said calmy. 

The cook made his way to you slowly, taking the gift from your hands and opening it gently, without tearing the wrapping.  

Did he get upset because of your lie? 

¨Sanji...¨ you called him, but he kept staring at the gloves. 

You saw his eyes fill with water before he excused himself and exited the deck, leaving everyone staring at you. 

¨I don´t... I´m gonna...¨ you pointed and left too. 

When you entered your room, he was standing, back turned to you. Was he really crying, or you saw things?

¨Sanji-kun?¨

¨You remembered...¨ he turned around, still holding the mittens ¨These colors...¨ 

¨Yeah, they don´t really match, but...¨

¨I wanted it so much, Y/N. When I saw it, I wanted it so much.¨

He rushed in your direction and hugged you tight. He hugged you and you felt all his emotions, you felt the weight he carried in his heart. Not a bad weight, just the weight of missing someone you love. 

You knew that that was the reason he was pestering you so much, the colors. You had chosen the colors that Zeff, Sanji´s mentor, wore. 

The fingers were orange and purple, like his striped shirt. You added yellow details of his hair; the blue of his ascot, and the white of his apron. 

As you said, they didn´t match, but apparently, Sanji didn´t care.

He would always share stories about their lives and cook recipes that Zeff taught him. Despite him always calling him old man or damn geezer, the Red Leg was his father.

¨Thank you, Y/N-chan. I loved it.¨

The sound of him sniffing made you hold him stronger. 

¨I miss that damn geezer.¨ 

¨I´m sure he misses you too, Little Eggplant.¨ 

¨Oi!¨

You squeaked and laughed when he threw on the bed.

¨I´ll show you Little Eggplant!¨

Hey, Guys! SURPRISE! Here´s my first decent art? hahaha THE MITTENS!

I don´t know if the quality dropped. I´m using krita and still don´t know how to adjust the settings stuff when I´m saving a jpeg. Anyway, I hope you liked it!

#vinsmoke sanji #sanji #black leg sanji #one piece #one piece x y/n #one piece x reader #oneshot #sanji x reader #thousand sunny #davy jones #gift #baratie #zeff #chef zeff #red leg zeff #little eggplant #cook #luffy #zoro #nami #robin #brook #usopp #chopper

[thero0ks]

My Most Treasured Items

Reiner receives a letter from someone in his past.

No happy ending, just angst.

Season Four spoilers

Trigger Warnings: Detailed description of death/corpses, brief discussion of childhood abuse

The detour had never been in the battle plan. Hanji and Levi would probably be pissed if they knew she’d taken an alternate route. She had studied the map for weeks to know the layout of the city, so that this detour would only add a couple seconds to her time. That’s why she took off a few moments earlier than everyone else. Her feet landed in the alleyway. Peeking her head out to check the Main Street she found it was empty. Rushing to the lone mailbox she pulled out the crisp white envelope. Having taken great care to avoid any wrinkles in the delicate paper she gave the envelope a soft kiss before placing it in the mailbox.

Four years later she would be able to speak her peace. Her shoulders relaxed. A weight lifting off her as she took off in the air once more to rendezvous with the rest of the squad.

* **

They sat around the table discussing Zeke’s betrayal. Reiner proposed an immediate counter attack. They left the meeting agreeing to think on the matter.

Entering his own barracks he found a letter placed on his bedside table. The flowing script pulled at something in his memory. Amber eyes flickered over to the name of the sender and his heart stopped. Y/N L/N.

His legs gave way as he sat on the edge of the bed tearing open the letter. Another Devil from his past had come back to haunt him.

To my beloved Reiner,

What would I do if I had 13 years to live? I’ve thought about the question for four years now, and I still don’t have an answer. By my calculations you only have a year, maybe two left?

I know your love for me was forced, and I truly apologize for the turmoil I caused you. A devil like me is hard to love for someone like you. The bitter truth that you were always enough for me, but I was only another sin that stained your hands is a hard thing to bear. I guess I have a knack for loving the wrong people. Perhaps that’s my punishment for the sins of my ancestors? Isn’t that what you Marleyans say?

You said a lot of things four years ago, but I didn’t get to say a word. I just watched you leave, and dealt with the aftermath of all my friends dying. For the record, I never wanted any of this. I think all this death is senseless, and I meant what I always said that this world could use more love.

I guess this world doesn’t have a place for dreamers.

I wanted to hate you for choosing them over us, but I realize that’s your home. It's easy to hate something you hold no attachment to. Loyalty is a strong trait, and it’s something I wanted to curse you for. I looked at you leaving me as a betrayal, but how can you betray something or someone you were never loyal to in the first place?

I guess that’s what I’m trying to say. I forgive you for not choosing me, but I also ask that you forgive me for not choosing you anymore either. There is not a decision either one of us could change that would have put us on a different path. For both of our sakes I wish to allow you a glimpse into my dreams.

I choose to believe in a world where we made all the right choices. One where we ended up together, happy, and surrounded by all our fallen comrades.

Maybe you have no desire to see me in that way. Perhaps every stolen moment we had was nothing more then something you did to pass the time. I want to believe the man you showed me exists, because everything I showed you was real.

Even after four years I cannot hate you. I hope your heart softens when you think of me too.

With love,

Y/N L/N

A tear splashed on the cream colored paper. Reiner’s hand moved to his cheek trying to recall the moment his eyes leaked water. His heart ached at her words.

Every time he recounted his time on Paradis to other Marleyans internally he always ended the statement with “except her.” Never had he said it aloud, but never had he lumped her in with the rest of them.

He remembered the night when she finally opened up about herself. Growing up in poverty, her abusive father, and the inner turmoil she felt about loving the man that abused her. He’d been so angry when she recounted the abuse to him, and the confusion he felt when she expressed empathy for the monster.

Gripping the letter he realized he had been a different monster to her. Wasn’t that his goal? Make the Devils of Paradis suffer? Then why did he want to beg for forgiveness at her feet for the sins he committed against her?

Running his hand through his hair he straightened the letter. Rereading it, hoping for poisoned words to jump out of the page. He deserved every verbal lashing she could bestow upon him, but he knew they would never come.

He wanted to write back to her. Tell her there wasn’t a moment he regretted leaving her on that island to rot. How her heartbroken look still haunted his dreams. Mostly he just wanted to assure her that he too wanted desperately to believe that in some alternative universe they would be together forever.

Here he was encouraging a full scale attack on the island. “Forgive me for not choosing you anymore either.” The hope of a relationship between the two had been crushed with that statement, but love still lingered in their hearts.

She was exactly what he needed. His bed felt cold without her. He still had issues going to bed alone, because she wasn’t there to coax into bed. Knowing her soft heart would melt if he told her he couldn’t sleep without her.

It was such a strange thing that someone so small was friends with the dark. She often told him she found peace when darkness coated the earth. Perhaps that’s what made it easy for him to fall asleep in her arms. He’d tried to tell her he was a monster, but she’d always kiss his forehead, and assure him that he was a good man, and that she would love him no matter what.

A knock on the door pulled Reiner out of his thoughts. “What is it?”

Porco poked his head through the door, “we have all the Devils bodies. Magath wants you to take a look,” Porco said, gripping the door knob. “See if anybody essential to their military is among them.”

Reiner sighed, folding the letter up and tucking it away before following Porco down to the yard where the bodies were being kept. The gate guards gave them a nod of acknowledgment as they passed.

Several rows of bodies were laid out and Reiner inspected each. They were all new faces. The attack on Paradis they launched four years ago had wiped out the scout regiment.

Reaching the last row he caught sight of a female corpse. The (dark/light) hair looked familiar. His feet seemed to echo off the pavement. Stopping in front of the body he took her in. Her soft curves had grown cold and stiff. Several bullet holes littered her body, and her neck was twisted in an odd angle. Bile rose in Reiner’s throat as he took in the soft cheeks, and her eyes that once held so much warmth were nothing but an empty abyss devoid of life. The color now dull the light long gone out.

Tears streamed down his face as shaking hands reached out to her. Nothing felt like her as he touched her cold skin. He hadn’t felt the sting of pavement as he fell on his knees to grip her hand and brush the hair from her face.

Porco remained silent. Taking in Reiner’s actions. Porco couldn’t find it in his heart to judge the man for falling in love with a devil. Especially when he had watched the woman die.

“I should have taken you back to Marley.” Reiner babbled, amber eyes fixed in the past.

“Reiner, she chose to attack Marley,” Porco tried to reason.

The large man rounded on him. “You know nothing about her,” he seethed. “She never wanted any of this.” Running his fingers through his hair. “All she wanted was to find something more out there than hell she was living in.”

“You can’t blame her death on yourself.” Porco reasoned.

“She would never have come here if it was not for me,” Reiner stated, as he removed a leather pouch that was strapped to her thigh. A bitter laugh escaped his lips as he pulled a small stone out.

* ** “Hey L/N!” Reiner said tossing the small stone at her.

A squeak escaped her lips as she lifted her hands to block her face. The stone making an audible thud against her ribs. “You didn’t even try to catch it,” Reiner said, picking the stone back up.

“Well I’m sorry, I grew up with an older brother who would have just pelted me with the rock,” she huffed. “It was a natural reaction to go into defense mode.”

Reiner let out a laugh at the thought of an elder L/N terrorizing her. “It’s a lucky rock,” he said offering the rock to her. He held the perfectly round stone between his index finger and thumb and her fingers brushed against his to pluck it out of his grasp.

“What makes it lucky?” she inquired. Curious eyes flickered up to catch his gaze.

He simply shrugged, “it’s perfectly round. That’s gotta be lucky.”

His answer seemed to satisfy her. “If I make it through our next mission without dying I’ll believe it’s lucky,” she said tucking the stone away in her leather pouch she kept secured to her thigh.

“What’s in your pouch?” Reiner asked, his head tilted as his gaze focused on her legs.

“My most treasured items,” she said with a shrug. “Tell you what Braun if I die before you, you can have my pouch and whatever is in it.”

Reiner ruffled her hair. “You’re not going to die as long as I’m by your side.”

* **

“The only time she wasn’t suffering was when I was lying to her,” Reiner murmured, the guilt washing over him at the sin he most regretted. The luck in the stone had finally faded Reiner thought numbly, or maybe it was the belief in the luck that died.

Perhaps he should be honored that a piece of him was counted among her most treasured possessions. A black and white photograph was the next thing he pulled out. It was a portrait, and Y/N was dressed in Marley’s finest. Joy seemed to be radiating from her face. Reiner’s guilt seemed to lessen. It was possible she had found a way to move on in her daily life.

The next thing he pulled out was a love letter. Reading through it he was surprised to find a small hand drawn portrait enclosed. The letter and portrait signed by Jean Kirstein. By the letter it was a different kind of love. It was the kind of love made for slow mornings, and gentle hearts. It was built for smooth sailing, but was never meant to survive the storms that life threw. Perhaps she knew that, and cherished the safety Jean had brought her for the period of their relationship.

The fact was that Reiner’s relationship with her had been built to weather storms, but he had set sail without her, so she was left to weather the waves without a life preserver. Somehow she’d clawed her way to the shore to try and rebuild what he had taken.

The last thing he pulled out was a small leather journal. Flipping through the pages he found some entries dated to cadet training, and her last entry was the night she died.

“Magath is going to want to read that journal,” Porco stated. Breaking the silence that he had given Reiner to go through her belongings.

Reiner tucked the items back into the satchel. “Can you give me the night to read through it?” Reiner’s downcast eyes took her corpse in one last time.

Porco nodded, “yeah just give it to Magath tomorrow.” Porco gave Reiner’s shoulder an awkward squeeze before leaving him.

Reiner tried to figure out how to say goodbye to the last thing in the past he cared about. The soldier was officially gone, and the only thing that remained was the warrior. All he wanted was more time. His thirteen years were almost up, his best friend and the love of his life didn’t have as much time. Perhaps they would be waiting for him. All he wanted was to see their smiles at the end of all of this. He was tired of fighting, and he was tired of being alone. “We’ll be together again soon,” he vowed, closing the door on death one more time.

#reiner x reader #reiner braun x reader #reiner braun #reiner braun x y/n #reiner braun x you

[unbridgeabledistances]

kings of the southside: CHAPTER 2

The storefronts on the block were different now— fragile minimalist displays and organic coffee shops uprooting the aged wooden bar signs with peeling paint and bullet holes— but against all odds, and with everyone else moving on, he and Mickey had decided to stay.

(a canon divergent fic in which ian and mickey stay on the southside and take over the alibi)

read chapter 2 here on ao3, or below the cut! (see notes on ao3 for various credits)

--

The end of the first weekend of them running the Alibi came quickly, and with it came Mickey’s focus being pulled in a million goddamn directions; they still had to unpack all of their shit upstairs, still had to figure out inventory and restock the bar and balance the books. Between all of the swirling and circling tasks Mickey felt like his head was going to explode, a sharp shift after the smooth waters of doing fuck-all for the past few months before the weed security business took off and he’d been forced to snap back into business mode.

Ian had bounced back from that first Saturday night of running the bar, the slump relaxing and fading out of his shoulders, and he was chipper as ever all Sunday afternoon, constantly grabbing at Mickey’s waist and singing fucking songs in his ear as they brushed elbows while pouring beers beside each other at the bar. As always, Ian fucking sunshine Gallagher’s mood seemed to have some sort of trickle-down effect on Mickey on Sunday, despite Mickey’s best efforts to not be a love-crazed loon. So even though they had a million things to do for Ian’s 80s night bullshit and Mickey had every reason to be stressed, he found himself fucking whistling when he rinsed the dishes behind the bar on Sunday night, and Tommy started giving him shit— and Mickey realized that he didn’t think there was a time he’d remembered whistling, ever, in his goddamn life.

He couldn’t really help it; Ian was radiating this new, breezy energy that Mickey still hadn’t had the time to feel the past few months, with all the bullshit going on with Terry and his family next door that set his teeth on edge— but now Ian was melting into their new life, acting settled, acting like he didn’t have a goddamn care in the world and everything was all figured out. And Mickey started to realize, in the fuzzy back corners of his brain, that maybe, just maybe— he could start to feel that way about their new gig at the Alibi and their new place, too.

They didn’t have to run from anything anymore.

**

Mickey practically couldn’t believe his ears the other week when Ian had willingly accepted custody of the Alibi with a too-relaxed air of nonchalance, with a well, maybe Mick and I could take it off your hands, on one of their final days scarfing down sugary cereal in the late hours of the morning in the Gallagher house kitchen. There was no way Gallagher was being serious about this— Ian was always talking about going somewhere, about being something bigger than he was, so there was no way he was offering to Kev that they would take over his dump of a bar. Except he definitely was— and for a sharp and splintering instant Mickey was worried Ian was saying this for him; that once again, he was holding Ian Gallagher back.

But Mickey had felt Ian’s warm palm resting on his leg under the kitchen table— and he’d seen the warmth, that fucking warmth that always heated Mickey’s insides, as Ian turned to him with his eyebrows raised in a question, in a wordless proposition— and once again it struck Mickey like a goddamn lightning bolt just how much Ian Gallagher loved him, if he looked this blissed out about the prospect of living in a shitty Southside apartment and running an even shittier bar with Mickey Milkovich for the rest of his days.

Mickey knew part of Ian doing this was for him, after all the Westside bullshit that Mickey had resisted at every turn. Mickey knew he’d lost his shit when he made that yuppie poodle lady rip their lease to shreds, but could anyone blame him? The few hours they’d spent at the apartment complex made Mickey feel like he was going to crawl out of his fucking skin, like the glares of everyone he passed by in the too-clean, air-freshened hallways made him itch from the inside out. There was no fucking way he could stay in a place like that. But he was going to try, if Ian wanted.

But with a simple sentence, with a simple maybe Mick and I could take it off your hands spoken into the dusty kitchen of the Gallagher house, Mickey was saved. This Alibi plan pulled them both above water, gave them both a shore to rest on— and now they were finally, finally on the same fucking page, after figuratively (and literally) butting heads about the future for so long.

So now they were here, and they were doing it, and it was scary as fuck. Mickey had never lived in a place so quiet, a small space so devoid of the press of other people screeching and fighting and leaving trails of clutter, and he knew that Ian hadn’t either; both of their childhood homes were always crawling with various drunks or Russian prostitutes or batshit crazy relatives, and the silence of their too-small studio, in the morning hours before the bar was opened downstairs, was deafening.

Mickey could feel his jaw start to clench as he laid twisted in the sheets on Monday morning, when Ian had gone for a run and Mickey was left in the apartment alone for an hour and it was quiet, too quiet— but instantly the boisterous noise of the Southside streets had started to flow just outside the open window, a cacophony of honking horns and shouted slurs and gunshots, and the trickling in of the sounds tickled Mickey’s scalp, and reminded him that he was still rooted— he was still home.

And then Ian came clomping up the stairs like a sweaty monster after his run and tackled Mickey into the mattress, flopping onto him like a fucking Saint Bernard—and Mickey remembered why they did this, why this was good for both of them.

Against every single one of Mickey’s instincts, against everything he’d always known— he was going to let himself have this.

**

Ian’s brows were furrowed, a pressed series of creases narrowed in focus, as he stared at the paint swatches with a too-sharp glare.

“Mick, I really don’t see the fucking difference between Charcoal Gray and Burnt Ember.”

Mickey huffed, snatching the series of paint swatches out of his hand. “Nevermind then. You’ve got no eye for this shit, Gallagher. Charcoal Gray has cool undertones, Burnt Ember has a warmer vibe. We’ve definitely gotta go with Burnt Ember, the lighting in this place is shit and I wanna make sure the kitchen has a good ambiance.”

Ian’s lips curved into a smile of disbelief, rolling his eyes. Annoying motherfucker. “They both look like gray to me.”

Mickey flashed a grin in reply, then swatted Ian’s chest with the remaining paint swatches he was holding. “It’s a good thing you’re good at manual labor. If we wanna have this place painted by Wednesday, we’ve gotta get moving.”

“On it. Lip’s coming by with the paint for the main room and the wallpaper stuff, too.”

And just then, there was a gentle tap at the door. “Ey, it’s me and Liam.”

Ian bounded across the room to pull the paint-chipped door open. “Speak of the devil.”

Lip strode into their shithole apartment carrying cans of paint and a wrench clenched between his fingers, Liam trailing behind him.

“Damn. It’s only been two days and I already forgot what a dump this place is.”

Ian shoved Lip’s shoulder. “Fuck you. If you can renovate our shitty house, fixing this place up should be a piece of cake.”

Mickey noticed Liam scanning the room— in a fit of annoyance the other morning, with the bright fucking sun streaming in because they hadn’t gotten curtains yet with the bar pulling focus downstairs, Mickey had sliced a black trashbag and pinned it to the window as a makeshift curtain. Liam’s eyes lingered on the hanging trashbag, and he raised a judgmental eyebrow at Mickey.

“Love what you’ve done with the place.”

Ian chuckled. “Yeah, Mick’s a real interior designer.”

Liam just sighed. “You guys need all the help you can get.”

Mickey’s brows furrowed. “Fuck you both. That was a temporary solution.” He walked over to the kitchen to grab a bottle of beer, just so he had something to do.

Ian grinned again, then reached out to ruffle Liam’s hair. “How’s the new place, superstar?”

Liam shrugged nonchalantly. “I like it. I just hung up all of my posters. Added a bit of vibrancy to the color palette that Tami chose to paint my room.”

Ian smirked, and nodded a head towards Mickey, who was standing by the fridge and fumbling with his beer bottle. “You should talk to Mickey about color palettes—we’ve been arguing for the last half hour about what shade of gray to paint the kitchen. Something about cool and warm undertones?”

Liam turned to examine the kitchenette in the back of the studio, hand on his hips. “Definitely warm undertones in a small space like this, unless you get some updated light fixtures.

Ian grinned. “Damn. Guess I really do have two interior designers in my family.”

Liam smiled back, his eyes lighting up. “You need any other advice? Mickey, I’d love to hear what unified aesthetic you’re aiming for with the décor.”

The rest of the afternoon was filled with the rhythm of smooth paint rollers sliding against the wall, the old radio in the corner of the room (that had probably been there for decades) turned to a low hum— Liam and Lip helped them shuffle through their belongings in the trash bags, moving the mattress to the center of the room and not even bothering to cover the already-stained hardwood floors with a drop cloth before they coated the studio’s walls in thick layers of paint.

Mickey and Liam were tackling the kitchen, priming the walls in a comfortable silence. Frank’s death had hit Liam pretty hard, and Mickey could only imagine how fucked up it was, to have all the heaviness and all those complicated clumps of emotion that came with Terry dying inside you when you were only a kid— losing a shitty father was almost harder than losing a good one.

But Liam seemed enthusiastic about helping with the renovation efforts— he covered the walls dutifully in multiple coats of primer, ran to the corner store to pick up canned pints of “Burnt Ember,” and even offered Mickey advice on various wallpaper swatches for a feature wall in the studio (which Mickey actually appreciated, because he was still learning all this shit and fuck if he knew what a “feature wall” was or how to make it look good). Liam also gave his review of the various pieces of furniture Mickey had circled in an Ikea catalogue with a black Sharpie. Mickey was flipping through the catalogue, Liam methodically painting a final coat of paint in the kitchen beside him in a comfortable silence, when Mickey tuned in to Lip and Ian’s conversation from where they were painting in the main room.

“So, you guys are really doing this shit, huh? Running the Alibi?”

Ian paused, presumably taking a sip of his beer. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t we?”

“Don’t know, man. The neighborhood’s changing. My bet is the crowds’ll get thinner and thinner.” Lip paused, ripping a paper towel to wipe his hands. “You sure that you and Mick have thought this through?”

Mickey tried to hold back an audible scoff from the kitchen. There were a number of things he could’ve yelled from the other room— for starters, when in the last 12 months had fucking Phillip Gallagher thought anything through— but he decided to hold his tongue, listening for Ian’s reply.

“Jesus, Lip. Yes. We’re already living in the place, not gonna give it up now.”

A pause.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, asshole.”

Mickey could hear Lip twisting open the soda can he’d been drinking from.

“I don’t know, man. It’s my job to care about this shit, isn’t it? I thought Fiona taking over the laundromat was a bad idea, and she still did it anyways.”

Ian gave a soft chuckle. “Yeah.”

The soft tempo of the paint rollers on the wall continued.

“You sure this is what you wanna do with your life?”

Mickey felt that twist in his stomach again— the ice cold one, the feeling of fear that always sunk into his bones in moments like this, when he knew other people saw what he saw: that Ian Gallagher was far, far too good for him, and that all Mickey doing was ensnaring him in the dirty streets of the Southside and holding him back, when everyone else was moving on with their lives into gentrified apartment complexes.

But he’d heard the smile in Ian’s voice as he replied.

“Absolutely.”

**

Finally, after a long fucking day, Lip and Liam had left the creaky apartment— the place was looking pretty good, the kitchen and the main room both painted, and Lip had even been able to do a bit of work on the plumbing and fixed the leaky sputter of the upstairs bathroom faucet (he had also tried to convince Ian to install some sort of fucking backsplash thing in the kitchen, a multi-day project that they’d both resisted). Now, with Lip and Liam out the door, he and Ian were ready to crash. Mickey strode across the room and opened all the windows as wide as they could possibly go, trying to dispel all the paint fumes and let in gusts of humid summer air so they could collapse on the mattress. They probably could’ve crashed at one of the other Gallaghers’ places for the night if they felt suffocated by the fumes— but for now the light evening breeze was quickly drying the paint, circulating the almost-too-small room.

Across the room Ian flopped onto the mattress, a ridiculous streak of gray paint smeared across his forehead. Mickey smirked, and crawled into bed next to him, sitting so his legs were pressed against Ian’s upper torso.

“I can’t wait to get a fucking bedframe,” Ian breathed out—his face buried in the pillow, his eyelids drooping. “And a new mattress. Not this shitty one with stains all over it.”

“Oh yeah?” Mickey smirked, reaching a hand over to card through Ian’s hair.

“Mm.” Ian hummed happily in reply as he kept his eyes closed, probably starting to drift off to sleep.

While was probably a horrible idea— at the very least, Ian should change out of his paint-streaked clothes and wash his fucking face. There were flecks of paint all over his face and in his hair, mingling and dried in his copper curls, from when he and Mickey had gotten into a moderate paint-splattering war like a couple of teenage boys when they were trying to paint the living room walls later in the day. He prodded Ian in his side, who was now laying curled beside him with a dreamy fucking smile on his face.

“Hey. Mumbles. Get the fuck up. You’re gonna fall asleep with that toxic shit all over your face.”

Ian yawned, his nose crinkling. “Don’t care,” he said into the pillow.

“C’mon, Ian.”

And all at once Ian’s eyes were open, and he was crawling his way on top of Mickey, boxing him in with his arms on both sides of Mickey’s head. Mickey felt a gust of air whoosh out of his lungs in surprise—and in an instant he was reminded of when they used to live at the Milkovich house, in his shitty bedroom with far too many bad memories for Ian’s presence to completely tip the scale and outweigh them with the good ones, when Ian would be laying sleepy beside him and they’d get into little wrestling matches and tussles like this, with grips of hair and breathed out “C’mere, army!”s. There was the same energy buzzing between them in this moment—but god, they were so fucking different than they’d been then. They were fuller, more solid; Ian was measured in a way that still made Mickey’s toes curl when he looked at him and compared him to the scrawny and glassy-eyed teenager that he’d been, to the hollow frame he’d been on the worst days when Mickey placed a hand on a too-cold ribcage curled under thin blankets and run a hand through his hair and whispered “please,” trying to will the light back into Ian’s eyes.

But that light was there all the goddamn time now— and it was there right now as Ian dipped down and kissed at Mickey’s neck, Mickey breathing out as a no-longer-sleepy Ian made his way downward.

He guessed Ian could probably just shower all the dried paint out of his hair tomorrow morning.

**

Tuesday was a blur of getting ready for Ian’s idea to host fucking 80s night, and getting ready for Franny to stay— Mickey had thought the extent of Ian’s plan for this party thing was going to just be playing some tunes and charging a little extra for beers, but apparently Ian wanted to go all out. He’d had Debbie make some sort of poster with a colorful font and stapled them all over random bulletin boards and telephone poles on the Southside, and posted a bunch of shit on her Instagram (which had a weirdly large following because of her whole “hot handywoman” thing, which was still a complete fucking mystery to Mickey). Mickey wasn’t sure that Ian’s plan of throwing a party at their random Southside bar on a Friday night was going to fix all of their financial problems— but hey, if they needed cash then they needed cash. And while Mickey’s preferred way of procuring cash was heading down to the local corner store with a gun stowed at his waistband, for once in his life he was trying to do this shit right. So maybe his goody-two-shoes husband was making him soft (he definitely, definitely fucking was)— but when his jackass ginger giant of a husband looked at him with fucking puppy dog eyes and asked him to go along with this plan, instead of Mickey’s not-quite-joking suggestions that they just rob the bodega two doors over instead to fix all of the Alibi’s money problems, there really wasn’t much that Mickey could do about it.

He and Ian were wiping the bar, Mickey mentally running through the list of shit they had to order to prep for Friday’s crowd, when their phone screens both illuminated with text messages on the bartop.

Debbie (2:34 PM): everyone make sure to post the 80s night flyer on ur socials!!!!

Lip (2:34 PM): What the fuck are socials

Debbie (2:35 PM): 🙄

Debbie (2:35 PM): u aren’t an old man, phillip. instagram, twitter, even facebook for dinosaurs like u🦖

Liam (2:35 PM): 👍👍 Already posted.

Liam (2:36 PM): But I don’t know how useful advertising to a bunch of 11 year olds will be…

Carl (2:36 PM): me and a bunch of the boys r gonna roll through- get ready to rage motherfuckers!!!

Ian (2:37 PM): ❤️❤️

Ian (2:37 PM): Thanks for all your help Debs

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Sappy motherfucker.”

He decided to reply to the groupchat in the way that he knew best:

Mickey (2:37 PM): 🖕

Mickey remembered the first day that he’d been initiated into the Gallagher family group chat, nearly a week after returning from their “honeymoon” in the dingy motel that smelled like mildew and cigarette smoke— he and Ian had been back at the Gallagher house for about a week, sleeping in most long lazy mornings and getting up to… various activities. It was one of those lazy mornings in bed when Ian had gotten decidedly distracted from said activities by the series of notifications that were lighting up Mickey’s phone on the nightstand from the groupchat Gallagher Fam:

Debbie (11:34 AM): the jonas brothers are playing upstairs. everybody take cover

Lip (11:34 AM): Thank god I don’t live there anymore

Debbie (11:35 AM): also welcome to the group chat mickey xoxo

Liam (11:35 AM): Noise-cancelling headphones are on. An excellent investment

Carl (11:35 AM): i’m just seeking shelter & keeping it real in the basement 😎

Mickey had never been part of a fucking family group chat before—he’d barely been involved in any group chats, since the extent of his smartphone use before prison was nonexistent, and he’d relied on burner phones to do all of Terry’s shady bidding after he got out of jail up until the wedding. He’d used some of their wedding cash to get himself an iPhone—even though he barely fucking knew how to use it half the time, except for shitty multiplayer games he and Ian liked to mess around with— but he’d barely had an excuse to text anyone except Sandy about various wedding logistics, and obviously Ian.

But now he was crashing with Ian’s family, and he and Ian were fucking married, and he was a part of this shit for real— it was group chat official. Which strangely felt all the more real, even though Mickey already had a fucking ring on his finger. And he’d never tell a fucking soul, not even Ian, but it made something warm pool in his stomach— to have siblings to fucking banter with about who ate the last of the potato chips, or who could pick Franny up from school, or whining about whoever was making too much noise, in the same ways he and Mandy and his brother used to get on each other’s fucking nerves.

Ian smiled down at his phone at Mickey’s reply to Debbie’s nudge about the posters. “Excellent contribution. Thanks for showing Debs how grateful you are.”

Mickey brought his emoji to life and flipped Ian off. “You’re welcome.”

Ian bit at his thumbnail, looking down at his phone. “Debbie says she can get us a karaoke machine for Friday. That might be kind of fun, right?”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Whatever you think, man. It’s your idea.”

Ian started tapping away at his phone, and Mickey turned back to tidying the bar, the rows and columns of those fucking black binders from the Alibi’s storeroom still lingering in the murky corners of his mind. He didn’t want to blow too much money on this shit— he had no idea how much a karaoke machine costed, but it probably wasn’t cheap. Why the fuck couldn’t they just steal one? Mickey gritted his teeth. He could crunch numbers any day, could make enough bank to stay afloat— but something about this, about running a fully legit business, was making him start to feel like he was being pulled underwater.

Mickey stayed tense the rest of the day, feeling like a bundle of fucking nerves without really knowing why— there was just so much going on, between moving and painting and Ian’s nervous excitement at planning this event bullshit. They’d both stumbled through the slow day at the bar, and now were collapsed in bed for the evening; Mickey was scrolling through various furniture store websites, weighing their options, while Ian was curled next to him, talking about something in a low voice that Mickey wasn’t really paying attention to.

“Sorry, what?”

Ian breathed out and smirked. “Nevermind. You weren’t listening.”

Mickey scrubbed a hand down his face. “Sorry, man. Just distracted.”

“Why’re you distracted?”

“Just thinking about all this shit. Furniture shopping, unpacking, whatever.”

Ian smiled. “Yeah? We can probably just pick stuff out when we go in person, we don’t have to overthink it.”

Mickey blew out a breath. “Yeah. Guess so.” He stretched his arms over his head— when the fuck did his shoulders get so tight?

“You ready for bed?”

“Yeah. I’ll grab the light.”

Mickey stood to pull the string for the bare lightbulb hanging directly above them, then thudded onto his stomach on the mattress. Immediately he heard Ian rustling under the sheets, moving closer to him, and eventually lifting on his arms to hover over Mickey’s back.

“The fuck’re you doing?”

“Relax, Mick. Just take a deep breath. Lemme take care of you.”

Mickey blew a breath out of his mouth into the pillow. “Not in the mood right now, Ian. I’m fucking exhausted.”

“Not like that— just lemme make your shoulders hurt less, at least.”

Mickey could feel Ian’s hot breath on the back of his neck as Ian settled, sitting back on Mickey’s upper thighs and leaning over him. He ran his hands along Mickey’s upper shoulders, delicately rubbing his thumbs up and down near his spine and trying to work at the permanent knots there.

“R’you giving me a fucking massage?” Mickey mumbled the words into the pillow, letting his eyelids droop. It did feel pretty fucking good, if he was being honest—the tension was draining from where he’d been holding it in his shoulders all week long, absorbing the impact of all the changes swirling around them and trying to keep them both afloat.

“Mm.” Ian hummed in reply, working his hands down to Mickey’s lower back and digging his thumbs in right where there were bundles of dull pain. Mickey almost flinched—not because it hurt, really, but because Ian’s fingertips gliding across his skin felt so fucking good.

He remembered the first 17 years of his life, the years when he’d been touch-starved without even realizing it, when the only touches his nerve-endings knew were high-impact beat downs and fists connecting with his jawbone. Milkoviches didn’t fucking hug, aside from a casual slap on the shoulder or side-hug when one of them was released from juvie—and even after he and Ian got together it took fucking forever to know what being held, what being gently touched, felt like. Those first few times when Ian had dragged his fingers over Mickey’s hipbones when they were fucking made Mickey nearly shudder, his nerve endings sparking like goddamn fireworks; and he couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. It was like his body was going on alert, like there was an invader breaching and he was always used to bracing for impact; but despite himself, all Mickey wanted was more— all he wanted was to press his cheek to Gallagher’s fucking jawbone and just keep it there and breathe in the scent of him, absorbing the warmth of his skin.

He still wasn’t totally used to this shit, the luxury of a warm body next to his after those years in a narrow prison cot, and on the run— but as he drifted off to sleep, his shoulders now unclenched and Ian’s warm, sturdy limbs circled around him, he thanked god, if god even did fucking exist anyways, that living in the shitty apartment over the Alibi was where he ended up in his life right now, with Ian by his side.

**

The next evening, just as the sun was setting pink outside the windows and Mickey was finishing up organizing everything behind the bar, Debbie towed Franny into the main room of the Alibi, wearing some sort of pink frilly shirt and carrying a kid-sized backpack with her pajamas and toothbrush inside.

“Thanks for watching Franny tonight, you guys are the best!” Debbie had barely set foot in the door before she was out it again and letting it swing shut behind her. Seconds later, Mickey could hear the distinct roaring of a too-expensive car engine coming from the street outside the bar.

Ian peered out the front window to inspected Heidi’s ride. “Jesus. It’s some sort of Ferrari convertible.” He scooped up Franny’s backpack from the floor, slinging the comically small bag onto his broad shoulders as he crouched to give Franny a hug. “Hey Fran, it’s so good to see you!”

“I missed you, Uncle Ian!” Franny enthusiastically squeezed Ian back.

Ian pressed a peck to the top of her head. “Missed you too. We’ve gotta have a talk with your mommy when she gets back about child road safety. That Ferrari was noticeably lacking a car seat.”

“Uncle Mickey!!!” Franny nearly squealed as she spotted Mickey behind the bar, running up and trying to jump up onto a stool so she could reach him. Ian laughed and lifted Franny so she was perched on a stool, her legs dangling as she reached forward. Mickey reached out an arm to fist-bump Franny, the best he could do with the bartop between them.

“Hey there, Little Red. Missed ya.”

Franny immediately looked Mickey up and down, like she was assessing if he’d changed at all since she last saw him. Her brows furrowed—then finally she spoke.

“Uncle Mickey, I have a question.”

Mickey reached across the bar to ruffle her hair. “What’s up, kid?”

She paused. “Can I rip the sleeves off my shirt too, like you?”

Mickey chuckled in surprise. He was wearing one of his flannel tank-tops with the arms ripped off—a white trash summer look in every way. “Let’s see what we can do. I think Uncle Ian’s got some old shirts packed upstairs that we can mess around with.”

Luckily, the bar was totally empty for the evening, aside from their three or four regulars— so Ian and Franny got to go upstairs and play dress-up while Mickey dealt with shit at the bar for an hour or so, deciding they’d close early so they could pay attention to Franny.

“Hey, Mick! We’ve got a surprise for you.” Ian’s voice wafted down from the back stairway that led up to the apartment.

“What’s up?”

“One sec. Stay downstairs.” Mickey could hear two sets of pattering footsteps coming down the staircase—and Franny dashed into the room, wearing a very baggy white tank top that reached her knees and an oversized flannel with the sleeves ripped off, an exact replica of Mickey’s outfit.

“Look, Uncle Mickey! I have an outfit like you! Now we can play liquor store robbery.” She looked at him seriously—then her face contorted, her brows furrowed and her lip sticking out in a face that Ian had taken to calling the “Milkovich scowl,” a trait that Franny had adopted in her many hours of playing “robbers” in the backyard with Mickey with her fake guns he’d gotten her for her birthday.

“Gimme all of your money!”

Mickey chuckled, and threw his hands up in surrender. “You got me, Wonder Woman.”

Ian walked towards the bar, lifting Franny up so she was perched on the countertop. “You like Franny’s new look? She was pretty insistent about wearing the tank top too.”

But Franny was still peering over at Mickey, like something had caught her eye.

“Uncle Mickey, can I have drawings on my fingers too? Like you? All the real robbers on TV have those.”

This time it was Ian who was laughing. “Oh my god. Debbie’s gonna kill us. If Franny gets knuckle tattoos by the time she’s seventeen, I’m blaming you.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Ain’t nothing wrong with family tradition. Fuck you.”

Ian tapped his fingers on the counter. “Wait, I have an idea. Franny, wait here.” Ian rushed upstairs, and came back down holding the black Sharpie that had Mickey had been using to circle pictures in the Ikea catalogue.

“Here, hold out your hand Fran.”

Franny held out her hand for Ian to hold—and he started to draw blocky letters between each of her knuckles. When he finished, he held Franny’s hand up for Mickey to see the doodled serifs, smiling sheepishly.

“L T T L   R E D  ♡”

Mickey grinned. “Now you’re a real robber, Rockstar.” Franny looked at her hands and smiled contentedly, running her thumb over the letters.

“L. T. T. L. I know all these letters. They’re different from Uncle Mickey’s. Mommy said his say ‘fuck.’”

Ian snorted. “Yeah, you get your own special letters Franny. They say ‘little red.’”

Franny beamed. “That’s what Uncle Mickey calls me!”

“You got it, kiddo.”

The rest of the afternoon involved many rounds of playing “liquor store robbery,” and Ian lifting up Franny to “help” behind the bar by pulling the lever of the beer tap— and by the early evening, when even fucking Kermit and Tommy had gone, Ian had the idea to make a fort out of the leftover empty inventory boxes, and Franny had repeatedly busted through the tower of boxes and shouted “Put your hands in the air!” as she pretended to blow up fictional liquor store walls.

Now it was late and they were all upstairs—Franny had crashed after dinnertime, after bouncing on the bed with a sugar high from the Poptarts Mickey had snuck her after dinner (to supplement some bullshit pasta thing that Ian had forced Mickey to feed her, even though he never remembered wanting to eat that shit when he was five— he practically lived on Honey Buns and pork rinds from the nearby gas station).

They still didn’t have furniture, and at one point they’d perched on the mattress so Mickey could show Franny videos of monster trucks on his phone— and now Franny was totally passed out against Mickey’s chest, breathing those raspy, loud breaths kids make when they’re deeply asleep.  

Ian came in the room from the semi-divided wall of the kitchen, wiping his hands after finishing rinsing the dishes (two plates, and a bowl that Franny ate from because they’d only swiped two of everything from the Gallagher house last week); and Mickey saw Ian’s lips curve upward in a knowing smile as he noticed Franny curled in the bedsheets, half-leaning on Mickey’s chest. Franny and Mickey were smack in the middle of the mattress, taking up most of the room; but Ian crouched to sit on the edge of the mattress beside Mickey, hooking his chin on Mickey’s shoulder casually as he peered over at Franny, still wearing her oversized flannel and smudged knuckle tattoos.

“Guess our babysitting duties are over.” He breathed out, trying not to unsettle Franny’s steady breathing. “Hope we didn’t corrupt her too much.”

Mickey scoffed. “Debbie’s dating someone who’s more of a fuck-up than we’ll ever be. Don’t think the ball’s really in our court on that one.”

“Fair.”

Franny scrunched her nose in her sleep, sighing out heavily before nestling deeper into the bedsheets.

“I kinda missed her, man.”

Mickey was surprised by the words as he heard them coming out of his mouth— they were true, but he hadn’t even voiced them to himself until now. As shitty as he’d always been with kids, he had to admit that goofing around with Franny was pretty fucking fun.

Ian smiled from where his mouth was pressed against Mickey’s shoulder. “Yeah. Me too.”

There was a silence, the room filled with the soft sound of Franny’s steady breathing. And then:

“Maybe… we’ll have a kid of our own sometime.”

Immediately, Mickey felt his gut lurch. It wasn’t like they hadn’t talked about this shit—they definitely had, in the abstract moments before the wedding; before everything blew up in their face and the pandemic took hold and any thought of kids was pushed way, way to the sidelines. And it wasn’t like Mickey was avoiding the topic— but he wasn’t exactly bringing it up, either, and neither was Ian.

Mickey thought back to that moment before the wedding, back to the hushed “you want kids?” Ian had placed between them— and how in that moment Mickey had known how much Ian wanted kids, how much Ian constantly cared for other people, how his voice got all soft and mushy around the edges in the vicinity of a baby. He knew how much Ian wanted this— but even broaching the topic made Mickey’s muscles start to clench.

Mickey tried to keep his cool—even though he felt the tides starting to roll inside of him, threatening to pull him under.

“I’d be a shitty dad, man.”

Ian’s head pulled away from where it had been nestled against the crook of Mickey’s neck—and Mickey turned his head to meet Ian’s piercing gaze.

“No you wouldn’t.” Ian’s voice was soft, surprised.

Mickey swallowed. “What if I like. Beat it. Or—” he cut himself off, knowing his voice was starting to waver.

Ian’s voice was firm when he replied. “You won’t. You’re great with Franny.” Ian paused.” “You were great with Yev.”

And there it was—the other fucking elephant in the room, beside all of Mickey’s other daddy issues; the fact that Mickey already was a father, was forced to be a father against his own will, giving him some sort of complex that he didn’t even have the energy to dig into about the potential of scooping up some kid to raise with Ian…. when there was already one out there with his gene pool that he didn’t want, that he couldn’t want, whose existence was forced onto him at gunpoint and who he didn’t have the strength to take care of.

Mickey felt Ian’s hand, feather light, tracing down his side— pulling him out of the current of his internal monologue. Ian’s hand hooked around his hip; a touch to root him, giving Mickey solid ground to hold on to.

“Hey.”

“What.”

“You’re gonna be a great dad.”

Mickey swallowed down the lump in his throat—and with it he tried to swallow down whatever bullshit was holding him back from letting himself have this. He thought about Ian—despite all his own reservations, he knew Ian must be having the same type of feelings about all of this shit; Ian was the one who had stolen Yev, who had worked so hard to get himself to the person he was today—a stable place where he was allowed to dream about being a parent, allowed to dream about shit like this.

“I hate this.”

Mickey didn’t really know what he was referring to in particular as he said the words—he hated all of this, he hated the churning emotions inside him. He felt so fucking uncomfortable—but that was always the first thing he felt, wasn’t it, when there was something deeper inside? It was the first thing he’d felt when he started to fall for Ian, when he started to realize he much preferred scrawny redheads to the busty figures with long hair; the pushing and heaving of no no no from somewhere in his ribcage, because he knew how much letting himself have this was going to hurt, how much shit he was going to have to wade through.

But he’d fucking done it—and look where he was now: Ian curled against his back, their fucking niece sound asleep beside him.

“Hey.” Ian’s voice was soft, nearly tickling Mickey’s ears. “There’s no rush for any of this shit. I’m just talking about… big picture. Eventually. When we’ve got all our shit settled.”

There it was again—that word, the one Ian had been saying all the time lately, the one that had been radiating out of his pores. Settled.

Mickey clearing his throat, trying to dispel the huskiness he knew would be there when he spoke. “Yeah. Maybe someday.”

He looked down at his hands. He knew that saying that wasn’t enough— Ian had to know how much he meant it.

“I— I wanna give you that shit. Someday.”

Mickey knew that was still an inadequate expression of everything he was feeling, of how much he wished he could just race carefreely into making fucking forts and playing dress-up with a kid of their own; but he also knew that for tonight, Ian understood. He knew in the way Ian pressed a kiss to the corner of his jaw, and said into the silence of the room:

“You’re so fucking good at taking care of people, Mick.”

Mickey let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. They were going to do this—someday.

“You know… now that we’ve got our own place.” Ian’s voice trailed off.

Mickey raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Well— we could be good millennials and start with a dog. Y’know, as a practice run. Get your fucking Milkovich pit bulls or whatever.”

Mickey instantly felt whatever remaining tense energy that had been clinging to him dissipate. He felt a grin creep onto his face. “Hell yeah. I’m in.”

Ian pecked his shoulder. “Cool. We can check out shelters sometime next week.”

Mickey shook his head, still smiling in relief. “A pit bull, I can handle. We’re gonna treat her like a fucking princess. Who needs kids anyways?”

Ian smiled back. “The first step in starting our own Southside family.”

Mickey’s insides instantly got warm and gushy at the words— and again, it was that mix of no no no and you don’t deserve this alongside something deeper, something more solid. He tried to do what Ian always told him to do, in the moments that he felt like this: he forced a breath in, forced himself to expand his ribcage. He forced himself to think:

You deserve this.

**

The next day had been uneventful, other than Franny’s tearful goodbye— and now it was the early afternoon on Friday, far too early for any sort of rush. Once again only Tommy and fucking Kermit were seated at the bar, but today he and Ian were barely paying attention to them, despite Tommy’s halfhearted attempts to drag Mickey into some sort of bullshit banter (as much as Tommy said he preferred silence at the bar, everyone knew that was a lie. Why the fuck else would be have been coming here every day for the last eleven years?).

Today, Ian had dragged a chalkboard out from the clutter of the dingy back closet of the Alibi, a sandwich board meant to be placed on the curb to promote the bar that looked like it had hardly been used. Ian continued to shuffle through the various boxes in the back room, making a shit ton of noise, until he finally found whatever else he’d been looking for.

“Aha!”

He held up a bent cardboard box of multicolor sidewalk chalk— half empty, and half broken, but it would get the job done.

He strode over to the bar, laying the chalkboard on it— then turned to Mickey, folding his arms in front of him.

“Alright, bartender extraordinaire. What drinks should we make for 80s night?”

Mickey rolled his eyes, puffing out a breath. “I don’t fucking know. Most of the guys who come in on Fridays just drink beer. We don’t gotta overcomplicate shit.”

Ian pressed his lips together, contemplative and looking down at the blank canvas of the chalkboard. “I’m not saying we should force out the regulars, because that’s definitely not what we’re going for with the event— but it’d be nice to have a couple of new things, in case the new people in the neighborhood do some by. Nothing too fancy or frilly or whatever.”

Ian dug in the cardboard box, plucking out a piece of chalk.

“And we should make our own signature drinks anyways, since we’re taking over the place. Make our mark on the Alibi.” He grinned. “Got any fun drink name ideas?”

Mickey rolled his eyes again, and felt the corners of his lips turn upwards in an amused smile against his will, thawing. “I don’t fuckin’ know.”

Ian continued smiling. “How about… the Milkovich Mojito.”

Mickey puffed out a breath of air, shoving Ian in the chest and furrowing his brows. “No fucking way.”

Ian just waggled his eyebrows. “C’mon, we own the place. It’ll just be a mojito with a shit ton of rum, only enough for someone with Milkovich-level tolerance. People will think it’s funny.”

Mickey felt his eyebrows lift upwards a bit, and he could see from the expression on Ian’s face that he’d lost this one. “Fine.”

Ian smirked, penciling in “Milkovich Mojito” on the chalkboard and drawing a little design around it. Mickey forgot how good Ian was at this— at the little details like this, at making shit look nice.

Ian rose from where he was hunched over the chalkboard when his masterpiece was completed, hands on his hips. “Alright. What else?”

Mickey shrugged. “I don’t know. How about ‘just fucking beer’?”

Ian laughed, and a warm feeling pooled in Mickey’s stomach despite himself. “Yeah. We should spell that out on the menu, so people know that’s our standard.” He leaned to write “JUST FUCKING BEER” on the chalkboard, drawing a little cartoon beer stein with foam on the top next to it. Mickey reached out, smudging a bit of the chalk of the drawing to annoy Ian, just because he could.

Ian swatted his arm away. “Hey! No touching the masterpiece.” He drew over the part Mickey smudged as best he could, biting his lip in concentration. Fuckin’ dork.

Ian stood tall again, admiring the finished product. “There. One more?”

Mickey shrugged again, feeling utterly out of ideas. He could balance a budget, sure, but he was useless with all the creative shit like this.

Ian bit his lip again, thinking. “What’re even mixed drinks people like? Sex on the beach?”

Mickey smirked. “There ain’t a lot of beaches in Chicago, man.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I guess it’s more like ‘sex behind a dumpster.’ Or ‘sex on your twin bed at your family’s house.’”

Mickey grinned, catching Ian’s drift. “Sex in the dugouts.”

Ian laughed, then made a little gesture with his hands like inspiration had struck. “Mick, I think we have our final drink name.” He turned to write it on the chalkboard.

“What the fuck are we gonna put in it? Just a fuckin’ lukewarm beer?”

Ian smirked, looking off dreamily. “Ah, memories.”

Mickey prodded him in the sternum. “You’re a fucking sap.” He shoved Ian over. “Here, let me write this one.” He took the chalk from Ian’s hand. “No peeking.”

He scratched on the chalkboard for a moment, then stood back to reveal his work. “Ta-da.”

In scratchy handwriting, not unlike the “STAY THE FUCK OUT” sign that used to be taped to his door, read “SEX IN THE DUGOUTS”—and next to it was two drawings, of a cartoon dick and two stick figures fucking doggy-style.

Ian grinned wide. “It’s perfect. Definitely captures the vibe of the new owners.”

Mickey just smiled back.

**

It was 6 p.m. now, and the bar was just about ready—Ian had compulsively swept the floor during the lull in the afternoon, even though it would be dirtied and scuffed within seconds of the usual Friday blue-collar crowd streaming in through the doors, and Mickey was perched on a stool at the end of the bar, laboring over his playlist. He usually didn’t overthink this shit— he’d included all the classics, from Bon Jovi to Queen to fucking Cyndi Lauper, but there was something so public about he and Ian running this thing now, and about throwing a loud event to proclaim it, that make Mickey’s stomach start to do somersaults for some reason as the first huddled crowd of Southsiders shuffled their way in through the door.

The bar did look good— Ian had got some sort of lighting gels to put over the lamps in the Alibi, and the room’s lighting was tinted a suave blue color, making the small space feel a little hipper, a little cooler, while still retaining its comforting dingy feel. It almost reminded Mickey of the soft, colorful lighting in that random Westside bar they’d gotten engaged in, with the shitty overpriced beer and the sparkly fucking lights when they’d watched that god-awful harp band with Barry or whatever the fuck his name was— but the lighting here looked cooler, more deliberate, and cast a calculated glow across the room that added to the vibe. The bass was thrumming low through the speakers Ian had rented from somewhere— right now it was just playing some mellow Joy Division song as people continued streaming into the bar.

Ian had crept upstairs at some point, probably to change out of whatever sweaty t-shirt he’d been wearing all day; and Mickey saw a flash of red hair emerging from the stairway now, turning the corner to stride into the dark room.

“Hey! Oh my god, it’s great to see you guys!”

Immediately Ian was swept away by some group of people in their mid-twenties near the swinging door that led to the back of the bar, who were chattering away about how they’d seen the poster on Debbie’s Instagram or some shit. Mickey assumed they were some people Ian had known when he’d been locked up, one of the unfamiliar faces from their wedding that got involved with Ian’s “Gay Jesus” bullshit—and as much as Mickey knew Ian’s relationship with those figures from a very different time in his life was complicated to say the least, it was nice to see Ian leaning comfortably against the bar, chatting away with someone that wasn’t him or Lip— chatting with friends. Looking settled.

Mickey smirked, knowing his gaze was lingering for too long when Ian locked eyes with him from across the bar, tilting his head towards the stairway. Giving Mickey a chance to go upstairs, to freshen up, to take a deep breath if he wanted to.

Fuck it. Mickey strode across the bar, heading upstairs to the quiet sanctuary of the studio and its fresh-painted walls. He shuffled through the various shirts and baggy jeans that were now in their designated-clothes-pile in the corner of the room, at least until they got a dresser and hangers and all that shit. He decided to peel off his sweaty tank top and change into a blue Hawaiian-print shirt, the one he’d swiped from the laundry room at the yuppie fucking Westside apartment complex before he’d burned that bridge, to amp himself up and fit the vibe downstairs. The shirt was only a little bit creased from being shoved in a pile in the corner of the room, which felt like a bonus— and Mickey smoothed a hand through his hair and fixed the collar of the shirt as he caught his own eye in the cracked bathroom mirror. There weren’t lots of times Mickey really gave a shit about what he wore—he and Ian pretty much lived in tank tops and boxers at home, and tank tops and denim at the bar especially on hot fucking days like these ones— but he had to admit that it did feel pretty nice to put on a shirt with a collar, a shirt with bright colors and patterns on it that, fuck it, he knew made his eyes pop—just because he wanted to have fun, just because he could.

He ruffled his hair one last time, then clomped back down the back staircase towards the light chatter swirling in the room below. Immediately he noticed the line at the bar starting to grow, and walked with intention over to behind the bar to start taking orders from a mixed sea of regulars and younger, new faces.

“Looking pretty festive there, Mick.”

Mickey held up a middle finger to where Tommy was seated on his usual stool. “Fuck you. I look hot and you know it.”

“You definitely do.” Ian slid behind him, speaking low into Mickey’s ear and his hands gliding to bracket Mickey’s waist for a moment as he shuffled by to pass a beer to a customer, then walked to the end of the bar and start to take more orders without a glance back. Mickey felt his neck flush red, just for a second— Ian was always just saying shit like that, about how good Mickey was, whenever he looked nice. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to it.

After a few hours the party was fully humming, and both he and Ian could barely glance up from the bar because of how many people were streaming through and placing their orders. Courtesy of Debbie, a karaoke machine was up and running in the corner of the room, the speakers blasting a series of poppy instrumentals across the small space—and as much as Mickey hated to admit it, he had to say that this event bullshit was actually a pretty fucking good idea. There were a handful of new faces in the crowd, a bunch of fucking millennials with man-buns and Ray-Bans and brimmed hats; but most of the crowd was the typical neighborhood crew, blue-collar workers with beer guts who were dropping slightly more money than their usual tab on an extra beer, and walking sloshed to the corner of the room to serenade their buddies with “Livin’ on a Prayer” (which made Ian stare across the bar at Mickey with a knowing smile between pouring drink orders).

At some point in the evening Debbie rolled in with a group of people from some gay bar she’d been pregaming her evening at, and Carl came by with some of his cop buddies; and all in all, the place had all the makings of a good fucking party. Which meant they were making good cash—beyond the wads of bills left on the bartop as tips, all the millennial jokers filtering through the space were surprisingly biting on the overpriced cocktails Ian had concocted, and they were racking up a good profit as the night went on.

Maybe they could fucking run this place after all.

Right now, a very sloshed Debbie was singing on the karaoke machine in the corner, belting out the final verse of “I Will Always Love You” and practically eye-fucking her new Grand Theft Auto girlfriend— an image that Mickey was trying not to pay attention to at all costs as he scanned the room, trying to mentally calculate just how well they’d done for the night. There’d been a good crowd streaming in for hours— and now the numbers were finally dwindling, and at last he and Ian could finally slow their pace for a bit, instead of being pulled in a million goddamn directions to wipe up beer spills or clear tables or refill the ice cubes in the freezer.

“Heeeyyyyy everyone! Listen up!” Debbie’s muffled voice took over the fade of the final chords of the song, her mouth a little too close to the microphone and making it screech as she spoke out to the crowd in the bar. “I just wanna say a shoutout to Ian and Mickey for taking over the Alibi! And for being the heroes that kept this place alive!” She teetered slightly. “Southside forever!”

Mickey scowled, and locked eyes with an amused Ian across the bar. “Control your fucking sister, man.”

Ian shrugged. “Eh. She’s the one that helped plan half this shit. Let Debs have some fun.”

Debbie pointed a finger over to where Ian and Mickey were standing behind the bar. “Everyone give them a round of applause! C’mon, they deserve it! C’mon!”

There were a couple of chuckles from the crowd, at Debbie’s deeply inebriated state as she tried to put the microphone back in its stand and drag herself away from the small TV showing song lyrics— but then, one by one, people at the bar started to clap— regulars, random newcomers, and even Tommy gave a little whoop as the cheers grew louder and louder and started to erupt.

Mickey just rolled his eyes, but Ian straightened his spine and smiled as he addressed the crowd. “Couldn’t have done it without all of you guys!” He wiped his hands with a towel, and went back to wiping down the bar as the applause settled.

Just then, Debbie turned and fumbled to grab the microphone once more. “Wait! Ian, Mickey! Come up here and sing a song.”

If Mickey thought he was scowling the first time Debbie had stumbled her way into the mic, now he was on a whole different level. He flashed a glance to Ian, and saw the sappy grin starting to grow on his face, like it always did when Ian had some dumbass idea. Jesus Christ.

Mickey needed to pump the brakes on this one fast. “No fucking way, Gallagher.”

Ian stepped closer to Mickey, reaching a placating hand onto his elbow. “C’mon, Mick. It’ll be fun.” Ian raised his eyebrows— and his stupid fucking eyes were shining again, doing that fucking thing where Mickey could feel in his bones that Ian was so ridiculously happy that they got to do sappy, mundane shit like this together…

Mickey blew out a breath. “I gotta do a shot or some shit before we do this.”

Ian’s grin grew ten sizes as he dropped the towel hanging from his shoulder onto the bar and swiftly turned to pour Mickey a shot of Jameson. Mickey’s frown deepened as he lifted his head back to pour the liquid fire down the back of his throat, bracing himself for battle; of course his stupid fucking American-Idol-wannabe husband couldn’t resist a call to do goddamn karaoke. Mickey blamed himself—he should’ve known Ian anywhere in the 1-mile radius of a karaoke machine would inevitably be a recipe for disaster.

Ian strode past the length of the bar and toward the corner of the Alibi where the illuminated screen of the karaoke machine was sitting there waiting— Mickey trudged behind him, shooting a glance at where Tommy and Kermit were seated on their regular stools.

“You two are in charge of the bar for 2 fucking minutes. Don’t fuck this up.” Kermit raised his hands in surrender, and Tommy just raised an eyebrow.

Ian was already punching at the little arrows on the machine. “What song d’you wanna do?”

“I could give less than a fuck, man. This is your fucking idea.”

Ian just flashed him a grin as he scrolled through the preselected song options. “Here, let’s do this one.”

He handed Mickey a microphone, and reached over to grab the second mic from Debbie’s hand (who was now successfully being corralled back to a booth by Heidi).

Instantly, the techno intro rhythms to the song began—and Ian started bobbing his head, causing the onlookers at the bar to laugh and one person to whistle. Mickey just shoved his upper arm.

“I fucking hate you so much.”

Ian just raised his eyebrows, and in a very off-key voice, started to sing:

“You were working as a waitress in a cocktail bar

When I met you

I picked you out, I shook up and turned you around

Turned you into someone new”

Mickey felt his heart thudding in his chest—and fuck that. He owned the fucking bar, he could fucking sing with his goddamn husband if he wanted to. Fuck whatever everyone else was thinking.

So when the first verse ended, and quickly streamed into the second, Mickey clutched the microphone and half-spoke, half-sang the illuminated words on the screen:

“Now five years later on you’ve got the world at your feet

Success has been so easy for you

But don’t forget it’s me who put you where you are now

And I can put you back down too”

Ian’s grin was splitting across his face— and once again Mickey had to reach out and prod him in the chest.

“Stop looking so fucking sappy!”

Ian just held the microphone in both of his hands, and playfully started to sing the chorus:

“Don't

Don't you want me?

You know I can't believe it

When I hear that you won't see me”

He looked over at Mickey, raising his eyebrows. “C’mon, Mick!”

Fuck it.

Mickey swallowed down whatever lingering… feelings were happening about all of this shit, and let the people watching them melt away, fading into the hazy blue lighting— because fuck all those assholes, anyways. He and Ian had been through way too much shit in the main room of the Alibi for Mickey to be afraid of doing fucking karaoke right now; he’d literally come out to his dad in these four walls. He’d had his face bashed in the moment he decided right here, rooted in this same spot on the scuffed hardwood floors, that he would do fucking anything to always be by Ian Gallagher’s side. So he squeezed his eyes shut, just for a second— and pretended it was just him and Ian, singing fucking Lady Gaga in their bathroom as they brushed their teeth (which, yes, they had been prone to do since Chromatica came out, fucking sue him)— and let himself actually sing, deep from his gut in the same goofy, lighthearted way that Ian was doing along with him:

“Don’t you want me baby?

Don’t you want me? Oh!

Don’t you want me baby?

Don’t you want me? Oh!”

Ian’s face was slightly flushed, still grinning from ear to ear, his eyes shining as he bobbed his head along with the music— and as they both finished singing the chorus, everyone in the bar started to lose their shit. Everyone was clapping and whistling; even some of the old regulars Mickey had pegged as homophobes a long time ago were cracking smiles through their scraggly beards and clapping their hands together.

When the song finally ended, Ian took a dramatic bow— then he took Mickey’s hand, clasping it and raising it over their heads. The applause and cheers erupted from the crowd, and someone yelled out:

“Let’s hear it for the new owners!”

After that, for the rest of the night Mickey loosened the fuck up— and maybe it was the couple of shots in his system, or maybe it was the fact that there weren’t that many people in the bar now at all except for a thin crowd of familiar faces— but he was feeling happy and warm as he milled through the crowd picking up empty glasses. At some point Debbie switched up the playlist to more dance-y stuff, causing her and Heidi to start spinning in the middle of the room, and a couple others to push the bar tables to the side and follow suit.

And now, people were dancing—and some random middle-aged neighborhood lady grabbed Mickey by the wrist, a smile on her face, to come dance with them—and usually Mickey would scowl and say “Fuck no” to dancing with some random fucking stranger in a situation like this, but he was feeling the blood rushing through his veins, feeling fucking settled—so for just this once, he decided to dance like a fucking goof in his Hawaiian shirt with the random lady for a while, til he locked eyes with where Ian was standing across the bar.

And maybe they were supposed to be paying attention, because they were still the ones running the fucking bar— but all Mickey wanted to do in that moment was walk across the room and press himself closer, closer, and reach his hand up to the side of Ian’s neck, and drag him to lean down to just the right height to press their lips together, to feel the warmth between them.

So that’s what he did, in the midst of the whirring of their neighbors and strangers in the Alibi around them.

We don’t have to run anymore.

#finally finished!!! #not rly proofread lol #yes it is almost 10k oops #i am actually rly proud of completing this chap i hope u enjoy #i love u all so so much i cannot get over how many amazing hcs i feel lucky to have included in this! #gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless fic #gallavich fanfiction #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #lip gallagher #liam gallagher #ian and mickey #ian x mickey #ixm

[desarcalize]

5 facts about Desarcalize

The last time I made a post was on June. I have 5 months to make a post!! The story is over, but I own you some facts.

1. First of all, I want to justify why I didn't make a post all these months. After I wrote this story, I started taking requests from my friends to write stories for them from different anime and Fandoms. It was my University, I started working too, so no time for Desarcalize. But, here I am now, writing these facts for you all who supported me all these months and never leaving this account!! Thank you all so much for that!!

2. The scenery of the story

In all the story, the sceneries are based on the same sceneries that you will see in anime and manga too, like 14th room, the monastery, the D. Campbell residence, etc

3. Sarah's Innocent

I will explain to you why I chose Gabriel's Wings as Sarah's Innocent. Sarah is the link between the past and the present. In a colored page of DGM manga, we see a picture of an angel who is holding lilies, standing behind Nea and Allen. Because of the lilies, this angel is Archangel Gabriel and he is standing behind them, protecting them, just like Sarah's soul.

4. Choosing Mana over Nea

It's true that at first Sarah and Nea were close, but later Sarah chose Mana. There are two reasons. The first one is that Nea cared more about his mission and his brother, when Mana wanted to live his life like a normal person, and that's what he did. The second reason (and I advise you to try it too in your stories) when I write the relationships in my story, I think them as otome game (routes, good ending, bad ending). Thinking Sarah with Nea and thinking her with Mana, made me to choose that her ending with Mana will help more to the flow of the story.

5. Sarah's end

I guess that some of you didn't expect Sarah's death. Sarah is an oc and one of the main characters in my prequel , so putting her in D. Gray-man will be a little off from the purpose that I made her. Sarah met Mana and Nea, supported them, saw their doom, helped Cross in the battles and helped Allen to find his right way. Her job here is done.

It was fun writing Desarcalize and I loved this story myself. Sometimes I am listening 14th song and I still crying. Thank you all of you, for once more, and never forget: don't stop, keep waking.

#d gray man #desarcalize #dgm #sarah miller #cross marian #neah d campbell #nea d campbell #mana d campbell #mana walker

[etlunainmorte]

Vergil X Reader: True Feelings

~ Hello, everyone! This is my present to Exy ( @impendingexodus ). A little Vergil X Reader to warm up your holidays!❤❤❤😍😍😍

I hope you like this! And Merry Christmas! ❤❤❤😍😍😍

***

He knew this feeling all too well. After all, he did experience something like this a long, long time ago.

However, this time around, Vergil felt it was even more difficult than ever before.

It was one of those days when he just couldn't control his temper. The simplest things would easily annoy him, and the deadliest words would just spill out of his mouth uncontrollably, regardless of who was present.

Maybe it's just old age or frustration getting the better of him, or maybe it's his brother's incompetence in many things that pulls the two of them down as Devil Hunters but, whatever the case, he just couldn't explain why he explodes like that at times. Yes, that's the word. He just explodes.

Sadly, the last time he did that was when (Y/N) was around.

Actually, the girl didn't do anything wrong. She didn't step out of the line. However, the way his brother lingered to her, the way he touched her, the way he looked at her, it just,... sets him off. Normally, Vergil could withstand his brother's suspicious behavior towards (Y/N) but, this time, he felt,... different.

After all, he knew this feeling all too well. He experienced something like this a long, long time ago.

However, this time around, Vergil felt it was even more difficult than ever before.

Needless to say, the moment Vergil let out those poisonous words that threatened to burn his throat like acid, he felt as if someone just poured hot water right on top of his head. He felt so hot all over, he could feel his anger coursing through each and every part of his body beginning from his veins to the tips of his fingers and toes. He felt so close to exploding, to triggering, and yet, the moment he saw the tears dangerously coming out of her (E/C) - colored eyes, he instantly felt his heart dropping to the darkest pit of his stomach. The moment she ran away, scared of what he has become right before her and Dante, Vergil felt this deathly coldness seeping through those same veins that brought the heat of wrath all over his body. And when she ran away from him in fear like that, he felt a precious part of his being leaving him forever.

Precious,...

Was (Y/N) that precious to him? He didn't know.

All he knew was whenever she's with him, he feels very calm. When she's around, he feels this warm sensation glowing deep within his core. All those negative thoughts that constantly plague his head, of darkness, and evil, and danger, would instantly leave his body, to be filled with warmth, and something very soft and tender that he couldn't quite explain. In a very short time, (Y/N) has become a very bright beacon for Vergil. The beacon that calms his mind, and gives him a feeling of reassurance that everything would be fine despite the chaotic state of his being.

In all honesty, Vergil wanted to surprise her. He wanted to give her a little something for Christmas. After all, she has done so much for him during the past few months, even when he was still not the man he is now. After acquiring those memories from V, he realized how much she has cared for him. How she took care of him when he's wounded. How she fed him when he's starving and how she clothed him when he felt cold. How she stayed with him despite all difficulties and how she remained by his side during all those trials. And even when she first met the real Vergil, she did her best to understand the situation. Despite her confusion, she did her best to learn about his kin and the truth, and darkness, behind his family name.

And even when she found out the things he has done in the past, she chose to remain by his side. She chose to believe in him.

She chose to always be there for him.

However, Vergil knew he's becoming such a burden towards her.

More so, he's becoming more and more volatile towards her when Dante's around.

Dropping the Yamato on the ground next to his feet, he collapsed and went down on his knees, his chest hurting as the image of her crying popped into his head.

Just earlier after his outburst, Dante tried to reason with him. His brother tried to calm him. As a matter of fact, Dante received a few slashes from him before his senses finally resurfaced. Through his hyper sensitive eyes, he noticed his brother helpless on the ground, refusing to fight, and still trying to reason with him.

And through his hazy mind, he saw her anguished face once again. Begging him to stop. Begging him to listen to her.

Right then and there, Vergil morphed back to his human form, drew the Yamato, and made a portal to this isolated place where no one dared to follow him.

It was the place where he separated his human self from his demonic self all those months ago.

And as he knelt there, regretting all the actions he has done, he thought of nothing but (Y/N).

Of how much he wanted to see her smiling again. Of how much he wanted to spend the rest of the day with her. Of how much he wanted to feel her frail body against him. Of how much he wanted to feel protected and loved.

Protected and loved,... by her.

But he has messed up. His jealousy,... has driven her away,...

Yes, jealousy, that's the word.

Jealousy has driven Vergil Sparda mad.

How would he get her back? How could he explain everything to her? Would she even believe him? Would she even listen to him?

"Vergil?"

There. Just now, he heard her soft and tender voice. Oh, how he missed that sweet, sweet voice of hers.

"Vergil, are you alright?"

And even his mind was playing tricks on him. How could she know where he was? Unless,...

The man scrambled to his feet, turned around, and saw none other than her, (Y/N) herself, in the flesh.

But,... how?

She gave him a little smile as she made small steps towards him, probably still wary of him and how he would possibly react.

This made Vergil wince. Has he really fallen low enough to make her frightened of him like that?

"I don't understand." Vergil began as he watched her get closer and closer towards him. "You didn't have to follow me here,... "

Her nose bridge wrinkled ever so slightly at what he just said.

Oh, how adorable she looked doing that,...

"But, I'm here for you." She said as she looked up at him, her eyes ever so gentle and her voice ever so soft.

"I don't even deserve you." Vergil answered. "Do I,... even deserve you?"

(Y/N) sighed as she shook her head. Fishing something from her pocket, she said, "I thought I would wait until midnight to give you this but," From her pocket, she produced a small gift he reckoned she wrapped herself and gingerly handed it to him. Placing her hands behind her back, she nodded at the little present in his hands. And with that adorable little smile of hers, she went on, " ... I guess there's no better time than tonight, right?"

A series of words came out as mere mumbles from Vergil's mouth as he looked at the gift then at her, then back at the gift once more, and this made her chuckle.

"Go on! Open it." She invited.

With a deep breath, Vergil placed his fingers on the little bow and carefully pulled it loose, letting the soft fabric wrapper fall flat on his palm.

What he saw confused him at first. It was nothing more than a small bundle of handmade bookmarks of all shapes and sizes.

How - ?

Then, he finally remembered. He finally remembered, and it actually made his eyes sting.

"Do you remember this?" (Y/N) began as she pointed at one particular bookmark that looked like a bird. "We both made this one to look like Griffon. I remember he was so annoyed by this, he actually tried to rip it apart!"

"(Y/N), I,... " You,… you kept these bookmarks,… all this time?

"Oh! And this one." She went on, now pointing at a gun shaped bookmark made from colorful pages of old magazines. "I remember there was a storm. We couldn't go out so we borrowed some of Nico's old Artisan magazines, and we were inspired to make our very own weapon. But, we're not Artisans, so, instead, we made this to pass the time! Do you remember, Vergil?"

"I - "

"And this one." She said, pointing at a Christmas tree shaped bookmark. "Do you remember this?"

Vergil closed his eyes, still trying to contain the emotions that were flooding out. He nodded, simply because he couldn't trust his voice.

"It was my idea." Vergil said, his voice hoarse and low. "I told you I'd buy as much books as I can with my own earnings as a Devil Hunter and spend the holidays reading them with you."

Vergil waited for her answer, and a few moments later, a smile creeped up on the corner of her lips. "Well, the books are ready, if you still want to come home with me."

"W - what do you mean? What is - ?"

"Umm, I mean, there's comedy, and tragedy, romance, poetry, of course, and those comics you saw at the local book shop once. The Far Side series. I got all your requests."

"I had no idea back then if I would live long enough to experience this day with you." Vergil added, his emotions betraying him.

"Hmm? You're here with me, right now."

"I knew I was at death's door, and I didn't want you to worry."

"But, you came back."

"And I was a terrible, terrible man." Vergil went on, trying to ignore the pain in his chest. The pain of bottling up all of his emotions.

The girl tilted her head to the side. "Why would you say that?"

"I,... hurt you! Despite everything you did for me, I still made you cry. I don't,... deserve someone as good as you!" Finally letting the painful truth go, Vergil sighed and gave her a pleading look. "I want you to have a happy life together with the man you love. I don't ever want you to experience pain, or suffering, or sadness. I want the best for you.

"(Y/N),... it's the best I could do for you for everything you've done for a,... shameful,... and tainted man,... such as myself."

There. The words were out, and honestly, Vergil felt so stupid for saying those.

And (Y/N)?

Well, the girl seemed to agree with him on that!

"W - what's so funny?" Vergil mumbled in embarrassment as he watched the girl control her mirth. "D - do I have s - something on my face?"

"Oh, you are a terrible, terrible liar, Vergil!" She spoke through her laughter.

Ah, it seems I have lost to her yet again,... "And what do you want me to say?! (Y/N), be with Dante because you deserve each other? Go out, spread the happy news, and,... multiply?!"

"Who told you I like Dante?!" The girl went on as if she's mocking Vergil's words.

Ah, so much for letting out those crushing and painful feelings,...

"Well, do you?!"

"Oh, dear, of course, I do! But, only as a friend." The girl informed him, then rolled her eyes. "And who said anything about," she stepped closer, dangerously closer, towards him and pressed an accusing finger against his forehead. Which looked very cute, considering the gap in their heights. " ... MULTIPLYING WITH YOUR BROTHER?!"

"Y - you mean, y - you're not in love with Dante?" And once again, Vergil felt he was back in middle - school, confessing to his very first crush.

Once again, Vergil heard her laughter. And her loveable snort. Oh, how he missed the sound and the sight,...

Then, without warning, Vergil felt something very soft and sweet, the taste of cherries, and,... chocolate? Against his lips. Then, the flowery scent of her hair assaulted his nostrils. Her smooth arms went around his neck, and he slightly felt her weight when she clung to him. He closed his eyes, wrapped his muscular arms around her shapely waist, held her oh so close to his chest, and finally,... finally! Moved his lips against hers.

Heaven. It felt as if he has died and gone straight to Heaven. He, a sinful man who has committed grave mistakes in the past, was being showered with love and affection by the loveliest Angel he has ever met.

With the rhythm of their lips and the soft moans of the girl he loved, Vergil felt that a great blessing has just entered his life.

Yes, he may have lied to her about him wanting her to be happy with someone else. Yes, he told her that he didn't deserve someone as good as her. But, deep inside, he wanted to be hers, and hers alone. He wanted to hold her like this for the rest of his life. He wanted to do more than read those books with her. He wanted the two of them to make their own stories, together. And,... more.

Vergil opened his eyes and saw her pouty lips as he broke the kiss that seemed to go on forever in their heads.

"I,... have a little surprise for you, as well." He revealed, his voice sounding as satisfied as it can be.

"Really? What is it?"

The corner of Vergil's lips curled up in a mischievous smirk, and this sent delicious shivers down (Y/N)'s spine.

"Oh, my love, you can keep guessing until we get back home." Vergil teased as he carried (Y/N) like a Princess.

"My love, stop being a tease and at least, give me a hint." The girl teased back with a mischievous smile of her own.

My love.

Those,... were the sweetest words he has ever heard in his entire, miserable life.

"You want a hint!" Vergil exclaimed theatrically, planting a chaste kiss on her forehead. "Let's say it's something you'll be mesmerized with for the rest of the evening,... "

***

@dmcsecretsanta

***

#vergil #dmc5 #dmcsecretsanta #dmcsecretsanta2020

[dreamersleeps]

I keep re-reading MHA 299 and I know many are upset Hawks is standing up for Endeavor but... I get the whole chapter was setting up that Hawks is going to commit suicide by heroically protecting Endeavor. He doesn’t want to look at the alternative because it just adds to the tragedy of his life, but also because he wants to die. He probably feels he doesn’t HAVE to investigate it at ALL because what does it do for him? He’ll be dead and it won’t be something he has to worry about.

Hello, it’s nice to talk to you again! :) So I’m not sure if this is the response you were looking for cause I just sat down, began writing and it kinda went off topic? I’m not entirely sure, but thank you for sending your thoughts and opinions in!

I read over Chapter 299 a few more times and I’m not sure if I really interpreted it as Hawks wanting to die. However I think I can kind of see what you mean by he’s going to commit suicide in the sense that (depending on the outcome) the action of Hawks going to help Endeavor is “suicide” in that it is his choice. 

I think the root of my interpretation lies with my opinion that while Horikoshi does work with heavy and difficult subjects, I can not see him ending the story of Hawks’ with death. While I think he could die in a metaphorical or symbolic way (something I believe has already happened when he took Jin’s life) when his story ends, a physical death is not impossible.

Just to express my train of thoughts easier, the following panels are not in the exact order of how they appear. 

"Endeavor’s in Trouble” 

I can see how you could interpret what Hawks says as him “standing up” for Endeavor but I did not really read it in that way. Standing up for him implies that he is in a way “okay” with what Endeavor has done in the past, and if we get more on Hawks’ thoughts later it will be clearer on where he stands but if this is all we get, I’d argue that he is not “letting things slide,” because it’s Endeavor. 

All we currently have is that Hawks states, “Endeavor’s in trouble.” I think he’s most likely referring to Dabi here. 

I guess you could argue that he may commit metaphorical suicide by choosing to help Endeavor. If we want to continue pursuing the Icarus narrative: then even after falling and after gaining his freedom, Hawks chooses to head towards Endeavor, or the sun again.  

So as you convey, this is the controversial page. 

“Even if what Dabi says about the Todoroki family is true... I know things are different now.” 

The inclusion of Hawks’ memory of Shouto and Endeavor is very, very important here. It appears in the middle of this sentence. I’d argue that Hawks here was not brushing off or ignoring what happened in the Todoroki household, and again this is mainly because of the inclusion of the memory which happens during the Endeavor Internship arc. This is how he is thinking through the situation. Seeing as we get a glimpse of Hawks’ past memories, I’m sure that he has been contemplating about everything that was revealed by Dabi. Especially considering that Hawks most likely can relate to Touya to a certain extent. 

Hawks’ hero career involved a lot of him having to collect information, analyze information and reach a conclusion in order for him to act upon it. Perhaps that is why when he states, “I know things are different now,” it comes off as very bold. I think the boldness of his statement is what may have upset people but I think it has to do with the way he’s been trained to think. 

The secret missions Hawks had to undertake while working for the Hero Public Safety Commission required one to detach their job from their individual feelings and thoughts. He must not let sentiments get in the way. 

Sentiments 

As always, I like to include definitions of words I find very important that could be understood differently based on who you are - what are sentiments? A couple definitions that come up in the dictionary are: 

1) an attitude, thought, or judgment prompted by feeling, 2) an idea colored by emotion (Merriam-Webster) and 3) exaggerated and self-indulgent feelings of tenderness, sadness or nostalgia (dictionary) 

We see that feelings and emotion get in the way with his job when Hawks confronts Jin. Hawks had a connection and relationship with Jin that he did not have in his life. As we see below in Chapter 265 even Dabi points this out, “Looks like sentiment tripped you up after all, hero!” Yes, ultimately Hawks takes Jin’s life but I do believe he was hesitant and did not want to. The dialogue between the two has Hawks expressing that he believes that Jin is a good person who was dealt an unlucky hand in life. 

While he does convey that he wants to “save” Jin by helping him but after already assessing the threat he believed Jin posed and with the arrival of Dabi, Hawks weights his options and chooses to take his life. 

From a detached, cold reading of this scene, Hawks does mess up. His hesitance distracts him and makes himself vulnerable to Dabi’s attack which badly burns him, and he loses a large portion of his feathers. 

Now I’m only going to focus on the fact that Hawks takes Jin’s life and the thinking that went behind it. I’m not here to discuss in depth about my thoughts and opinions on the matter however I think by the end of this post, you may have an idea on where I stand.  

What is a hero? 

Okay, my wording here is confusing but I’m going to try the best I can to convey what I’m trying to get at. There is also the idea of the two concepts of heroism that float around the manga: 1) working as hero as an occupation and being able to fulfill that role, and then 2) one who we label as a hero/heroic in how they think and act. For both we think of saving, strength, power, charisma, etc. 

Then there are the other qualities we tend to associate with the second concept of who/what a hero is: being selfless and compassionate, having moral integrity, showing concern for others no matter who it is and being understanding of others’ perspectives. There are others as well but these are what come to mind at the moment. 

While the qualities I list above can be associated with heroes in general, in BNHA there has been an effort to differentiate at least two different concepts of heroism. The biggest example was with the introduction of the character Stain. If the reader had not been questioning hero society beforehand, Stain told us directly to think critically and refrain from being passive like the characters in the story. Due to the emergence of quirks, there were those whose quirks deemed “unacceptable” by society, their existence often leading to a difficult life or being  labeled as a villain. The demand for heroes created the concept of the hero as a job. 

And so heroes became celebrities. They are rich and influential, and they cover the cities with their faces to sell and endorse products. Even the physical copies of the BNHA manga have ads of various pro-heroes selling products in the back. There’s plenty of other criticisms that you could talk about such as the Hero Billboard Chart. 

While the older pro-heroes seem to have lost or never embodied the meaning of what the reader may argue as “being a true hero,” we see that there is a difference with the students, but first let’s go back to Hawks and Twice again. 

Yes, Hawks attempts to save Jin but the outcome is that he takes his life instead. Definitely not what the act of saving is supposed to look like. As seen above, Hawks had already verbalized that he may have to kill Jin. I’ll also throw in that I felt like Hawks was looking down at him in pity (like he does with his parents) and determines that Jin is need of saving. Hawks reaches that conclusion himself. But that is not what happens. Instead he decides that the death, or “sacrifice” of an individual is worth it if he can save hundreds or thousands of others. In this way you could argue that he has successfully acted to fulfill his job as a hero. But, as many people were wondering: 

Aren’t heroes supposed to save everyone? 

Perhaps one of the defining qualities of a hero is that they chose to save indiscriminately or most importantly, whoever they can reach. 

In the same arc we get Midoriya who is faced with a very similar situation. Shigaraki poses as a significant threat to the heroes and the rest of Japan. Midoriya knows that Shigaraki can wipe out all of those he holds dear to him and the rest of Japan if he is not stopped. Midoriya sees firsthand Shigaraki’s terrifying and destructive powers, his friends, teachers and allies being critically injured. He is with the knowledge that the people in his life and millions others may lose their lives. 

When faced with such a horrifying outcome, would stopping Shigaraki be enough? I’m assuming that taking his life would have been a very tempting option. To take a life to save millions of lives.

But even after all that we get this page spread of Midoriya’s final thoughts before he loses consciousness at the end of Chapter 295. 

Midoriya chooses compassion. 

The juxtaposition of Midoriya’s thoughts and image gave me chills when I first saw it. We see the outcome of the conflict: a quiet, lifeless city in ruins with the dust in the process of settling. This is the result of Shigaraki’s destruction. The reality that there are thousands of civilians who got hurt, are critically injured or even dead hangs heavy in the air. When society chose to ignore Shigaraki and the heroes chose to label him as an evil, unredeemable villain, Midoriya has chosen to look directly at him. 

Based on the first concept of what a hero is/does according to hero society, Midoriya dues not fulfill his duty as a hero after failing to defeat Shigaraki, however based on the second concept because he chooses compassion he has begun to embody the ideals of who a hero truly is.

Hawks is tripped up by sentiments but acts to finish the job the way he sees fit. 

exaggerated and self-indulgent feelings of tenderness, sadness or nostalgia 

He tries to be compassionate and understanding but isn’t. He has an image of Jin he created himself that is not the true Jin, hence why they are mere sentiments. He chooses to focus on his mission because he does not actual understand how Jin was feeling. This results in him looking past Jin’s life to protect the lives of millions of others. In contrast, Midoriya recognizes Shigaraki, the person who is standing immediately in front of him. In its purest form, to be a hero means to save indiscriminately and to save those you can reach. 

Being a hero as a career in BNHA becomes tricky as it means to defeat and take down villains, and choosing who to save as Hawks demonstrates. 

However to save someone like Shigaraki, Dabi or Toga (who were all let down by hero society) requires someone to take the more difficult path to reach a hand out with selflessness, compassion, and understanding. It seems that Midoriya, Shouto and Ochako will be the ones to extend their hands to them. 

“Starting With my Origin” 

Children often are only able to understand and grasp basic concepts. A hero is someone who saves you, or puts a smile on your face. We get a glimpse back in to Hawks’ childhood, to that innocent concept of heroes that Hawks had. 

As they say, “Never meet your idols/heroes” mainly because they are not actually who they are portrayed to be. The world looks very simple when you are younger, black and white, but as you grow and experience more of life, you start to begin to see just how complicated things are. There are way more gray areas when you begin to look closely. 

Similarly, Hawks does not see him in the same lens as he did in his childhood. He understands that the image of Endeavor he had when he was younger is not who Endeavor actually is. I don’t think that Hawks’ decision to want to go help him was made without thought. He takes in information and contemplates on it until he makes a conclusion. For someone who was actively seeking out more information, I’m wondering if all he has is what Dabi has stated. We have to remember that the information we have as the reader is not the same as the characters in the story. I’d also argue that he is not ignoring what Dabi has said but taking into consideration the past and whether Endeavor is working to change. 

Now that he is most likely no longer working for the Hero Public Safety Commission, he is free to do as he please, and as seen earlier, he chooses to walk towards Endeavor. The team up between the two in Fukuoka, and the ambush against the League of Villains and Meta liberation army may have strengthened their relationship but Hawks wanting to help Endeavor this time does not stem from hero work. 

Wanting to help Endeavor will put him directly on the path towards Dabi. 

Like you, some people believe that he may as in consequence for his actions, he will ultimately crash in to the ocean like Icarus, and die. The final fall. Perhaps his mistake will be that he will choose to pick Endeavor over Dabi, or find himself in a position where he may believe he has to take Dabi’s life away as well. 

Others believe that Hawks has had his Icarus fall already but will learn from the consequences of his actions. He’s died, but has been reborn like a phoenix. Shouto will be meeting Dabi again as well, and as we’ve seen, like Midoriya, he sees Touya as a person: his brother. He even identifies himself to him. I’ve seen people talking about and hoping for a team up between Hawks and Shouto so we’ll see what happens if they do. 

I’m going to bring the very last page back, but most of Chapter 299 has to do with Hawks’ childhood. His mother would ask him about why he was born and what the point of his wings were for and Hawks’ answer is to save people.

“Starting with my origin, so to speak... Endeavor’s in trouble.” 

We get a focus, visually to Hawks’ back. The origins of what allowed Hawks to save and be a hero: his fierce wings quirk, and it looks his wings are healing and growing back. I think you could also see it as him referring to Endeavor as well. The hero who saved him when he was a child, could also be seen as his origin.

During the High End vs Endeavor fight in Chapter 190, we see some of Hawks’ insecurities. Hawks is/was insecure about his back, and that is where his wings are. This was during the time when Hawks was working as a hero because it was his job. He did have that desire to save people but it was only a muted motivation behind what he did: he worked as a hero as a job first. I’m wondering if things have changed. 

Putting this all together, I think I’m currently leaning towards the second possible outcome from what I listed before. If Hawks can go back to his origin and become someone who tries to embody the true heroism. Of course he’ll stumble but it’ll still be a drastic change from how he had been living before. 

While I understand that many people are upset about these panels, I think we have to wait to see what will happen. To be honest, while I’d personally prefer the second outcome, I think I would be satisfied with either outcome. 

As the reader, we certainly can argue that Hawks is a tragic character however I’m not sure if Hawks considers his life as “tragic.” I think he will continue to do what he can as I feel like he defines his purpose based on what he does.

So will Hawks be tripped up on sentiments again, or will he be able to think and be understanding like Midoriya? 

As for now, I think it may be the first. 

#hawks #takami keigo #endeavor #todoroki touya #twice #bubaigawara jin #dabi #bnha meta #mha meta #bnha analysis #deku #midoriya izuku #todoroki shouto #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki #cw abuse #cw suicide #luna answers

[jocazep]

In the Whole Wide Train | Chapter 11

Pairing: Curtis Everett x Reader (Jo, OFC), slight Edgar x Reader

Warnings: Major spoilers for SNOWPIERCER, dystopian society and its countless problems, mentions of forced abortions, language, violence, deaths, slow burn, eventual smut

Synopsis: Having grown up in the Front Sections of the Snowpiercer, you venture down the train when a rare opportunity presents itself, but the excursion quickly changes flavor when you arrive in the Tail Section.

A/N: Sooooo it's been a while... mainly because I didn't want to write the inevitable [SPOILER] of a certain character...but alas, the fanfic must go on. So here we go again...

Taglist: Now closed

Series Masterlist

Chapter 11 - Breaking Bread

“I forgot to ask,” you reached out to grab Curtis’ right arm as the gang shuffled along the green aisles of the garden section.

“What?” Curtis was too busy looking at the overwhelming plants, trees, and vegetables that he thought had long been extinct in the world. It was a beautiful sight, you had to admit, especially compared with the monotone bleakness of the tail section. So beautiful that when Namgoong opened the door, everyone’s eyes, with the sole exception of Mason’s, lit up as this unimaginable paradise was presented to them.

“That little scar on your forearm--”

“It’s nothing--” you felt his arm stiffen beneath your hand, his left hand involuntarily scratching the coat over the position of the scar. To be honest, you could barely remember what it looked like anyway. In the heat of passion last night, your eyes caught a long, even line near the elbow that looked more like the remnant of a precision surgery than a battle scar.

“All right, keep your mysterious cool guy aura then,” The scar piqued your interest, but you decided against pushing for an answer--there will be time after the matter at hand... You grabbed tighter onto his arm, tip-toeing to place your lips near his ear and whisper, “Tease.”

Curtis turned around, surprised. You didn’t need to forego all the fun, right?

“No, no, no don’t eat that--” a worker reached out to Tanya, who had picked up a tomato.

“It’s OK, just a tomato.” You calmed the worker down, rolling up your sleeve, “Here use my credit.” The worker took out the scanner, still hesitant, but obliged you. A small beep sounded and you were on your way.

“What was that?” It was Curtis’ turn to be curious.

“Well up front we have this thing called currency--” you joked, but the sight ahead distracted your audience.

You had come to the aquarium section.

Moments later, the eight of you were sitting along the sushi bar, staring at the plates of exquisite raw fish in front of you.

“So, sushi.“ Tanya took up her serving and popped it into her mouth.

“You people are lucky! This is only served twice a year, January, and July,” Mason decided this was a good time to open her mouth.

“Why, not enough fish?” Tanya quibbed dryly, as a massive manta flowed overhead.

“Enough isn’t the criterion,” You absent-mindedly took over the conversation from Mason as you poured the soy-sauce for your toro nigiri, “It’s balance--”

You lift your head to put back the soy-sauce, only to realize everyone to your right was looking your way, waiting for you to finish your thought.

“What about balance?” Curtis, sitting to your left, asked.

You whipped your head back, a quick moment as you looked at the man--he will need to know sooner or later, right?

“Be...because of that--” you pointed to the whiteness outside, the remnants of a metropolis whipping past, “the only way this aquarium was going to survive, was by becoming a closed ecological system. The number of individual units must be very closely, precisely controlled in order to maintain the proper, sustainable balance.”

“Like so many other things on this train.”

You passed a stern look to Mason, who was bitterly fiddling with the iron around her wrists.

“Whoever designed this got really lucky then,” Namgoong commented.

“Oh no, back in the first year my--” you caught yourself before the word “father” slipped out, “my friends told me they had to get rid of the fish that couldn’t fit into the food chain...”

“What, the restaurant served exclusively fish?” Curtis could almost hear Edgar’s ranting in his ear.

“Some,” You picked at the wasabi, smearing it on your sushi, “a lot of them got made into taxidermies for posterity...” It was only after the room became quiet that you realized you misspoke, “I’m sorry...It was...”

“It’s all right, it’s what actually happened,” Curtis put his arm on your shoulder, pulling you closer towards him.

You couldn’t let it go that easily of course. Remember your surroundings, you were bothered that your father’s voice rang up in your head. But the truth was you probably needed a reminder, after such a long time with the revolters, it’s easy to forget what you were really here for. Better now than later.

But it seemed the meal was just destined to go awry--no sooner had Mason picked up her chopsticks, than Curtis pulled on the chain, jerking the tools out of Mason’s control.

“No,” Curtis palmed out a protein bar, waving it in front of Mason, “You eat this. Know what it’s made of?”

Mason took it up, and threw a quick look at you, only to realize you had pre-empted her by turning your attention to Yuna sitting to your right.

“Curtis my friend, this seems uncalled for--“

“I’m not your friend, and this is 100% called for.”

”Would I be your friend if I had classified information about Wilford?“

Uh-oh. You forced yourself to turn your head--naturally and slowly--towards Curtis and Mason, “Curtis...” You lay your hand on his, and shook your head.

You could swear you saw his nostrils flare up a little, “We have had to eat this for, hell you have had to eat this for--”

“But isn’t the point of the revolt--”

“The point,” Curtis wriggled his hand from underneath yours, and flung the protein bar at Mason, “is to make them pay for what they did to us--”

“Make them pay? Weren’t we fighting for equal quality--“

“Not after what they did to Edgar--”

“How is degrading Mason any help?”

“At least I’ll sleep a little better knowing I made one front-sectioner get a taste of their own medicine.”

The words hung like leaden rings in the air, reverberating through your spine. Mason looked on, unsure how to react.

“Well,” after a long while, you finally opened your mouth, “then let that be me instead.”

Curtis, like everyone else, was taken aback. They watched as you reached out, switching the protein bar with your own sushi serving.

“Jo, that’s not what Curtis meant...” Tanya tried to diffuse the situation, but you ignored her, biting down on the brownish jelly, forcing the rubbery morsels down your throat. It tasted even worse than you remembered.

When you couldn’t stomach any more of the protein bar, you stuffed the rest in your pocket, got to your feet, and walked to the far end of the aquarium.

Curtis made a move to follow you, but Tanya stopped him, “let her blow off a little steam.” Curtis nodded, still hesitant, his eyes trailing your footsteps as they quickened the closer you moved towards the restroom.

Yuna ran past, intent on following you, but was met with the slamming of the steel door in her face. She looked back at Curtis and company, a little confused and hurt.

On the other side of the door, you were puking your guts out, eyes welling up, nose running. It wasn’t just the thought of eating protein extracted from millions of locusts that turned your stomach--the little clash had brought a stern reality check in your head: this is a revolt, and whatever the original intent, if Curtis and Co succeed, there will be suffering and chaos before any sort of balance is reached.

Guess the old man was pretty perceptive after all...you thought as you finally straightened up, wiping your face with water, trying to recall what your father had planned in case the revolt went further than the water section, only to realize Wilford had actively excluded you from that conversation.

You were wondering if he had predicted your eventual realization of the irreconcilable conflict between your visions of change and those of the revolt when a gentle knock sounded at the door. You checked your face in the mirror, forcing an air of nonchalance—you don’t want Curtis to think you had been crying, even if it was just from nausea.

“Are you OK?” It was Yuna’s voice coming through the door.

Eyes dropping a little, you pulled opened the door, “yeah, just nature calling. What’s up?”

Yuna raised the same wrinkled notebook page, pointing at the pencil-colored steel drawers.

“Yes we’ve been through this—“ Yuna pushed the paper closer to you, forcing you to take a closer look. There were shallow indents on the page, remnants of your notes when you made your way down the train.

Oh god. You panicked as you scrambled to remember what you might have written on those pages.

“Yuna, listen—“

“Guys, c’mon, we are moving onto the next section.” Tanya called out.

You nodded in her direction, and looked down at Yuna, “we’ll revisit this?” Yuna put the paper back into her pocket and followed you to join the gang.

As the two of you approached, Curtis tried to find your eyes. He wished he could say that he didn’t mean what he said, but he knew you saw the truth behind the hot-blooded words. Years of oppression had created a beast within him, and it was easy to hate the front-sectioners when they were faceless beings living in his head, or the pompous Mason. But now...

To be honest he had stopped thinking of you as a front-sectioner since well before your passionate evening together. Which makes it all the more frustrating when you chose to remind him of the undeniable fact, stirring awake the beast he thought he had put to sleep. He knows it’s not your fault—you were barely out of school when you boarded the train. And it is terribly difficult for him to imagine the courage it took for you to side with him against your family and friends—goodness he had never thought about that before. Do you still have family in the front--

His train of thought came to a grinding halt as you walked past him, determined not to look at him. Curtis felt his brows furrow further, and jerking the chain, pulled Mason forward.

“Curtis my friend, could we dispense with the chains for the next section?”

“Why?” A half-distracted answer from Curtis as he watched you push the door open with Namgoong and Grey, heading into the freezer section.

“Well, for the sake of the young, the children--“ Mason was barely finished with her sentence when you walked over, taking off your overcoat and draping it over her cuffs.

”What do you think you’re doing?“ Curtis didn’t sound too pleased.

“It’s the school section next,” you said as you strode to the front of the procession again, “kids shouldn’t be a part of this.”

The silence game between you and Curtis continued throughout the freezer section please, you walking at the front, him trailing in the back with Mason. You started fidgeting as you walked past the racks of beef and frozen chickens—maybe giving Mason your coat wasn’t such a great idea. But you were not going to give Curtis the satisfaction, so you did the only thing you could do, walk faster.

“Hey, spoiled lady, wanna slow the fuck down?” Namgoong never actually learned your name, which doesn’t really make a difference to your really...

“Sorry, I’m just not very good with cold.” You said as you slowed your steps until you were in the same footing as the disheveled security specialist.

“Then you’re fucked in this world.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, “yeah guess I am...” Then you remembered something, “Why does the Yekaterina Bridge mean so much to you?”

“What?”

“I saw you looking for something through the windows when everyone was hanging on for dear life. Must have been pretty important to you...”

A moment of silence as Namgoong stopped his steps. You kept your eyes on him, waiting for an answer. He let out a sigh, raising a hand, “you wanna swipe your implant to open the door, or should I?”

You turned your head—and see the door at the end of the section.

When the rest of the company finally caught up to you and Namgoong, Curtis noticed your fidgeting hands as they raised up to unlock the door, the fingertips showing just a tiny hint for blue. With Mason in tow, he strode up to you, taking your hand before you could retract it.

“Wh—“

“You’re freezing,” Curtis said as the lively noise of children hit you like a heatwave. Bright colors assaulted your eyes and saccharin songs flowed through the concrete doors.

“I’m fine,” you replied, your hand twitching within his grasp, but not quite withdrawing it.

“Look, I feel like an asshole for earlier...” Curtis took a pause as the rest of the company shuffled past into the school section. A pregnant lady led the children in chorus as an educational, semi-propaganda introduction of the train was blaring on the TV at the moment. Thank god you were too old for this when you first boarded.

When it was once again just the two of you hovering at the entrance, Curtis continued, “Here take my coat—” He moved to shrug off his tattered coat, but you stopped him.

“Sure this front-sectioner has had enough taste of her own medicine?”

“C’mon, I don’t think of you as a front—“

That’s not exactly what you were hoping to hear.

“But I am one,” you said as you pulled your hand free, his fingers leaving visible prints on yours, “and up to a month ago, everyone in my life is one too.”

”But now you’re with us—”

“There should be no ‘us’ or ‘them’, that’s kind of the point of all this jazz, Curtis.”

Curtis just blinked at you. You could see the idea behind your words not quite computing within his mind, a mind that had always lived in the darker part of a dichotomy. And a part of your resolution melted away.

“Let’s do this another time,” You laid one hand on his, urging him to put his coat back on.

“Sure you’re ok without the coat?”

“I’ll survive. My blood is still raging hot from our fight earlier.” Curtis was a little bummed at your joking dismissal of his concern, but he knew there was no use pushing you.

“Children, let’s say hello to our guests from the tail section...” To her credit, the pregnant teacher kept her countenance as she took in the group of torn coats and ragged shoes filing past her, Tanya and Andrew getting their grease-stained fingers on a student’s face every once in a while when they thought he resembled their sons.

“Today is the first day of the new year, so we have a special little treat,” the teacher said as a well-dressed, clean-shaven Gerald walked in, to everyone’s surprise.

Amidst murmurs of “Is that Gerald?”, your eyes glazed over, thinking about his wife back in the tail section and her broken hand. And your resolution crumbled further—surely the train could have made room for one more violinist? A cloudy silhouette of the previous violinist took form in front of your eyes—was she the first chair of the Viennese Philharmonic? You couldn’t quite recall, except for the fact that she played at the weekly fete.

You were so lost in thought, and music, to have noticed Egghead walking down the aisle, handing each child a New Year’s celebratory egg.

And then, came the most traumatic three minutes of your life.

Taglist: @torntaltos @emmalbg @ajosieface

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